Synchronicity
by Aurilia
Summary: The rift crosses into other worlds, other times. Sometimes taking, sometimes giving. When it catches someone who shares a bit of Jack's circumstances, that's when everything changes. Series rewrite. Rating for canon-typical language, violence, sexuality.
1. The More They Stay the Same

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'Torchwood'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** Gwen Cooper irritates the ever-living fuck out of me. Always has, and always will. I'm sorry if this doesn't agree with your own personal view of her, but everyone's entitled to their own opinions. Ergo, for the purposes of this story, she is the PC who was killed at the beginning of Doctor Who's episode _The God Complex_ (6.11), rather than PC Lucy Haywood (don't we all love the wibbly-wobbly nature of time in the Whoverse?). As you might infer, this means that this is a series rewrite with someone else in Gwen's place. I hope you like what I did.

Considering the source material, do I really need to mention that this story will contain violence, sex (both slash and het), drinking, smoking, drugs, and 'bad' language? Thought not. Fandoms like this one are why the M rating exists in the first place. If any of the list above offends you… WTF are you doing in the _Torchwood_ fandom to begin with?

* * *

**Synchronicity**

_Chapter One: The More They Stay the Same_

_1 January, 2000  
00:17_

Unseen by most revelers below, obscured by fireworks and smoke, a small streak flashed brilliantly through the night sky; the few partiers who observed its descent figured it to be nothing more than a meteorite. Miles away, a skeleton crew at UNIT's HQ tracked the same 'meteorite', and found its projected 'landing zone' to be an empty field, just north of Cardiff. Back-tracing its flight revealed that there was only one place it could have originated: The Cardiff Rift. Following protocol, the officer in charge passed the information along to Torchwood's headquarters.

Closer to the impact site, roughly an hour after the unknown object had streaked across the night sky, a discreet chirp momentarily tore Jack's attention from Alex's body. He recognized it as an incoming message from T1 in London. He looked at the bodies of his teammates and closed his eyes. Shaking his head, he ignored the message and climbed to his feet. _More important things,_ he thought, then made a list of what he needed to accomplish. It was dishearteningly long. _T1 can handle it. Whatever it is._

At the impact site, minutes after her controls shorted and she'd plowed into the ground of an unknown planet, a blonde girl opened her eyes. She silenced the alarms buzzing and beeping around her. "Thanks, yeah – I know I've crashed. Just don't know _how_. Wasn't anything I could've crashed _into_. Could they have tracked the ship that quickly?" She ran a hand through her hair, dislodging the elastic tie. _Must have done._ Resecuring her hair into its customary pony-tail, she carefully extracted herself from the wreckage. Her back twinged painfully as bones knit and muscles and tendons healed. The damage could have been much worse. As it was, she'd invested in Second Skin not long after leaving Messaline behind; it had been a very good investment, literally saving her skin on more than one narrow escape.

Standing on the lip of the crater in which her latest ship lie burning, she checked her pockets. Satisfied she had everything she needed, she sighed and strode off into the night, intent on quickly locating another ship and getting back to business.

Unfortunately, she would wind up disappointed.

* * *

_24 December, 2005  
15:10_

For the twentieth time in nearly six years, the MPEA let out a bleeping chime. Pausing in getting ready for work, Jenny picked up the piece of technology and scrolled to the appropriate screen. Thus far, none of the alerts had panned out. _Finally!_ The scanner function had locked onto the energy signature of a ship she knew how to fly. _Now, I just need to figure out how to get aboard._

It took her all night, but just as she was about to trip the cobbled-together teleporter, her MPEA let out another, more urgent, alarm. Reading what it said, she looked up to see beams of concentrated green energy lancing up through the sky. A heartbeat later, the ship exploded. Frustrated, she destroyed the teleporter and headed back to her 'life', such that it was. _Some day, I am gonna get back to where – and when – I'm supposed to be, no matter what it takes._

* * *

_15 February, 2006  
11:42_

Copious research over the years was reinforced by her newly-strengthened vow and cumulated in her return to the city nearest which she'd initially crashed. From what she could see, it hadn't changed at all, though her second visit was going far more smoothly than her first – mainly thanks to her now knowing how to speak something other than Galactic Standard. The first thing she did on stepping off the train was find a nice private corner of a coffee shop with access to Wi-Fi. Over a chocolate latte, she methodically wiped 'Jenny Smith' from existence and had 'Jenny Thomas' inserted into being, easily back-dating the various entries to read as though they'd been there for _years_. Before leaving London, she'd already slipped into the multiple buildings where hardcopy was needed to support the digital information and inserted or deleted as needed.

_Okay, so I now 'officially' exist. Next step, I need to find a place to stay, and then figure out how to get into Torchwood._

It wasn't as easy as she'd thought it'd be, particularly not when the entire group seemed to be rather insular. Shortly after missing yet _another_ chance to hijack a ship and get off of Earth (a Chula ship had crashed in the Thames, but her MPEA had indicated it was still spaceworthy), she revamped her plans.

Jenny added a bit to her fabricated history, then joined the Cardiff police.

* * *

_12 July, 2006  
17:06_

The last of the Cybermen disappeared, headed for what her MPEA indicated was a hole in the universe. Jenny couldn't help but let out a small breath of relief. _I don't know who managed it, but if I ever find them, they're getting the hug of a lifetime. Cyberforms are nothing anyone should ever have to live through. Ever._

A couple of days later, she slipped into the T3 files. A part of her that had been tensed in preparation for combat relaxed. Torchwood One had fallen completely. She no longer had to worry about their scientists finding out about her and taking her away. This didn't relax her enough to let down her guard completely. _UNIT is still out there, after all._

* * *

_21 October, 2006  
23:38_

It was raining, but Jenny didn't mind. She actually quite liked the rain. It was surprising how few planets had uncontrolled weather like this, and she never quite got used to it, but loved every second of it. She adjusted her belt on climbing out of the car and walked over to her partner of the last eight months. "Hey," she greeted the tall, lanky redhead.

"Horrible night," Andy replied, handing her a small cup of tea.

"It's beautiful," Jenny argued, turning her face up so the rain could wash over it.

"And you're a complete nutter," Andy fondly said. It had been an ongoing source of teasing since they'd met – Jenny's love of rain and snow.

She sipped from the cup. "Do they know who it is yet?" she asked, nodding to where the crime scene techs in their white coveralls were working around a recently-dead body.

"Just some bloke," Andy said with a shrug. "You going to Slimbo's on Friday?"

Jenny wrinkled her nose. "Drinks?"

"That and pizza, I think. So, you coming, too?"

The blonde shook her head. "Don't think so."

Andy rolled his eyes. "Shoulda known better than to ask, Jen. You _never_ accept."

"Doesn't stop you from asking, though." Jenny smiled at him. Despite all the secrets she carried and her intense desire to leave this backwards planet behind, she genuinely liked Andy.

A couple of moments later, they spotted the techs packing up. "What's going on over there?" Andy asked through his radio.

A slightly static-laden reply buzzed through the radio's speaker, "SOCOs are leaving, orders from bloody Torchwood."

Jenny only just managed to keep her face schooled. After _months_ of covert observation and attempting to get into the organization, they were _finally_ showing at a police crime scene. Granted, there wasn't anything about the scene itself that seemed abnormal, but they were _finally coming to her_. She ducked away from the yellow line of tape and raced into a multi-tiered parking structure that would sport a good view of the body.

She skidded to a halt on the fifth level, taking a position mostly obscured by a support pillar. Peering around the edge, she watched the team below. "…punched again, I'm punching him right back," Dr. Harper was saying.

"Just concentrate, Suzie," Captain Harkness commanded.

_What the hell are they doing with an Irkanes-Shethka gauntlet? Not only is it three galaxies from home, but they're a solid thousand years from being invented._ Jenny frowned as the Costello woman managed to get the glove to work on the dead man. _How'd they get it to begin with, let alone figure how to work the damn thing?_ She chewed on her lip as she watched the team try to get the dead guy to describe what had happened to him. _And if they've got that, what else do they have?_ She rolled her eyes at herself. _Come on, Jenny-girl – you know _how_ they got it. Same way you wound up here. That bloody rift._

She jumped slightly as Harkness' voice shouted, "What do you think?" She looked down and saw him staring up at her. She pointed to herself with a questioning eyebrow. The man nodded. "Yeah, you."

"Just a minute," she called out to him, hoping he would take the hint and stick around and wait for her. Glancing down as she passed the third level, she saw the Torchwood team packing up. "Oh, no you don't, not when I've finally got your attention," she grumbled to herself, then jumped from the overlook. She landed with a rather dramatic splash, in an ankle-deep puddle.

"Careful," Harkness said, walking over to her. "Could hurt yourself that way."

Jenny straightened from her landing-crouch and grinned at him. "Unlikely," she said, purposefully using Galactic Standard.

It managed to take Captain Harkness by surprise, but the gratifyingly startled expression was quickly wiped away. "I think, miss, we need to talk," he said, in English, steel underlying his voice.

"I quite agree," Jenny replied, likewise using English.

The captain's ear-com beeped. He reached up and tapped it. "Yeah?" he questioned, then held up a 'wait a moment' finger. "Get back to the Hub. Suzie, you and Tosh head on home for tonight. Owen, take Ianto and deal with it – when you're done, go home yourself." He returned his attention to Jenny as he switched off the earpiece. "Hungry?"

"Not really," Jenny said. "I'd just had dinner before arriving. Let me talk with my partner for a moment, then we can have a long-overdue chat, Captain Harkness." Without waiting for a reply, Jenny sprinted over to where Andy was patiently waiting next to their police car.

"Where've you been off to, Jen?" Andy asked.

Jenny winced and adopted a pitiful tone. "I was sick," she said. "I think it was something I ate. Can you…?"

Andy nodded. "Sure thing. I'll let the higher-ups know. I'll tell them you won't be in tomorrow, either. Need a lift home?"

"Thanks, but no – I called Emma. She's on her way home from work anyway and said she'd pick me up on the way. Should be here in a few minutes. You go on."

"Sure thing," Andy said, leaning down and kissing her cheek. "Take care of yourself, Jen, and feel better soon."

She waited until he drove away before walking back to where Jack Harkness was waiting. "I'm playing sick, so just to be on the safe side, maybe we ought to talk somewhere I won't be spotted." She began walking towards her flat.

Twenty minutes later, she unlocked her front door and gestured for Jack to precede her inside. She hit a light switch, then closed the door behind her and stripped off her police-issue jacket and hat. "Help yourself to the kitchen, if you like," she said. "I'm gonna change out of this uniform."

It was a measure of just how much one single word – albeit one spoken in a language that wouldn't be developed for close to three more millennia – had managed to throw Jack off his stride that he didn't bother with a lewd or inappropriate comment. He simply let her head towards her bedroom, his attention more on the various knickknacks and photos strewn about the tiny living space.

Despite the language he'd heard her use, he couldn't spot anything out in the open that didn't fit with the current time. She had a small flatscreen television, a two-seater sofa, and a battered coffee table, strewn with bits and pieces of the last few days' newspapers – the crosswords, mostly, half-done in pen – and a couple of magazines that focused on celebrities and fashion. The kitchen was separated by a short breakfast bar. The fridge sported several photos, half of which also had the policeman she'd spoken to at the crime scene in them.

While he was rifling through her cupboards, the blonde girl reappeared. She'd changed into a pair of jeans and a tightly-fitting long-sleeved grey shirt, over which she wore a black t-shirt sporting the logo for a local rock band. Her hair had been released from its police-bun and tied into a simple tail. "Biscuits are in the one next to the fridge," she said, flopping onto the sofa. "I like the ones with raspberry in them, so don't touch. You can have any of the others. Also have some lemonade in the fridge."

Jack quickly located the tin containing a mix of various biscuits and grabbed two cans of lemonade out of the fridge. He handed the tin and one of the cans to the blonde, then asked, "Who are you?" in Galactic Standard.

Using the same language, Jenny replied as she opened the tin, "It's a long story." She clamored over to make space, then patted the empty cushion. "Have a seat."

Jack joined her on the sofa. "Where are you from? _When_ are you from? Why didn't we – Torchwood – sense your arrival?"

Jenny cracked her lemonade open. "Like I said, it's kind of a long story."

"I've got time," Jack replied, hoping that the girl would begin talking _soon_. He also hoped that this would wind up being something he could easily deal with.

This made Jenny giggle. "I'd think so, if the rumors I've read about you are right."

"Would depend on the rumors," Jack allowed, not bothering to mask the suspicion in his voice. "You still haven't answered any of my questions."

"Fair enough," Jenny allowed, setting her lemonade on the coffee table and grabbing one of her preferred biscuits. "Ten years ago, I was created on July 24, 6012 on the planet Messaline, via the use of a Progenation Unit."

Jack couldn't hide the skepticism as he repeated, "'Progenation Unit'?"

Jenny nodded, then took a bite of her biscuit. She motioned to the tin. "Help yourself." She washed the bite down with a drink. "A Progenation Unit. It takes a sample of diploid cells, splits them into haploids, runs the result through a quick scan to ensure viability, then recombines the ones that survive the scan into a new arrangement, then force-grows the resultant individual to a pre-set age, programming things like speech, motor control, and other relevant skills as the individual is grown."

Though he'd once been a Time Agent, he'd never visited the future of his own timeline without the Doctor – and the few times they'd done so, he'd never chanced on the technology she described. However, he knew enough about technology in general to get the gist of it. "I didn't spend much time on Messaline. I ran away…" she trailed off with an odd look in her eyes, but quickly shook off whatever it was that had her looking slightly hurt. "Anyway, flash forwards four years, and I've just stolen a Dogon puddle-jumper. The instruments went wild – I thought the guy I'd stolen it from had managed to hit the recall beacon, but that thought didn't last. Enter some golden glowy atmospheric effects, and suddenly I'm careening towards this blue-green world I've never seen before."

"Sounds like you got caught in a rift-storm and crashed," Jack commented. "Still doesn't explain why we didn't notice. We keep the rift under pretty close supervision."

"Well, I didn't know so at the time, but I've since worked out that I crashed just after midnight on the first of January, 2000." Jenny paused long enough to slurp another drink of her lemonade.

Jack suddenly remembered the message he hadn't gotten around to reading until nearly a week after it had been sent. "Ah, that makes sense. Was caught up in something else at the time," he said, once more wondering just what had been so bad that Alex had felt the need to do what he'd done. "So, you've been here for almost seven years."

Jenny nodded. "Spent most of that time trying to figure out how to get home. Had a couple of close-calls – figured I'd stick around until an interstellar ship showed, then hijack it and head for the Shadow Proclamation. According to the history I was given during progenation, they're about the only ones with access to time travel who'd be willing to help me out. Unfortunately, I kept missing my opportunities – either the ships that showed up weren't ones I know how to fly, or they'd wind up destroyed. I tried to get into UNIT, but they weren't interested in the girl I'd concocted as a cover. I did some additional research and found that Torchwood would probably be my best bet. I picked the base here in Cardiff because you'd severed ties with the one in London. And I really didn't want to get caught by them."

Jack knew precisely what sort of people worked for T1. "Why not?" he asked. "Granted, they're ruthless and more than just a little despicable –"

"Because they give a full-scan medical to all their employees on a regular basis," Jenny interrupted. "I can't let them do that to me. They'd never let me leave."

Jack quickly checked his internal knowledge of alien species who could pass for human unless subjected to medical testing and came up with a very short list. "Cassavalian? You from Sto?" he asked, naming the only visibly-humanlike species still around; at least, the only one who could produce someone who had Jenny's fair hair and blue eyes and sun-kissed complexion.

Jenny shook her head. "Nope." She drained the remains of her lemonade and sat the empty can next to the biscuit tin. "I met the source of my progenation. He called himself a 'Time Lord'." She poked around the biscuits, then sighed at the lack of any more raspberry ones. "He didn't seem to like me very much. The woman with him, what was her name? Donna?" She shrugged and settled back against her couch. "Anyway, the woman with him had to talk him into saying I could go with them when they left. There was a lot of running," she said with a nostalgic smile. "I wound up getting shot. But when I woke up, they'd left without me."

Jack was beyond surprised at this point. _She's a Time Lord. Time Lady?_ Jack mentally shoved aside the terminology. _Whatever. She's basically the Doctor's only family, regardless of how she came to be. I really can't see him leaving her…_ Memories he'd tried to ignore for more than a century bubbled up. _No, I suppose I _can_ see him doing that. He left me behind, after all. Hasn't even _tried_ to find me. Besides, you've lived long enough to know that one side isn't all there is to a story. Once you find him, you can ask him why he left her behind, too._

Jenny watched as the captain's face shifted from shock through to bitterness and finally landing on something she'd felt compelled to label as 'resolved'. "What's on your mind?"

"That the Doctor has more to answer for than I'd thought," Jack replied, finally opening his own can of lemonade. After taking a drink, he asked, "How come you've not come to me before?"

She shrugged. "I couldn't be certain you weren't like the ones in London. I had to be sure."

"I suppose I can understand that," Jack allowed. "Can I ask… What's with the police getup?"

"Can't stay in one place for long without getting a job," Jenny replied. "Besides, it gave me the chance to observe without arousing suspicion. I had to be sure, you see."

"I do see." Jack did, and didn't blame her for her caution. "So, what do I call you?"

"The woman with my progenerator called me 'Jenny'. I've always been fond of it. It's what's on my IDs for here – specifically Jenny Thomas."

Jack finally let himself smile. "Well, Jenny Thomas. Pleased to meet you," he offered his own hand. "Captain Jack Harkness."

"I know, Captain," she said, shaking his hand and mirroring his smile.

"Call me Jack," he replied. "And what can Torchwood Three do for you?"

"I will, Jack," Jenny said. "Can you get me home? Back to 6016, I mean. Preferably nowhere near the Dogon Cluster."

Jack's smile died. "Sorry, Jenny. We can't. I should know – I've been trying to fix this," he tapped the leather band he habitually wore on his wrist, "for over a century now. I've come to conclude that time-hopping is just too far outside the capabilities of here and now."

Jenny took Jack's hand and pushed his coat sleeve out of the way. Jack reached over and opened the cover, revealing the technology beneath. "Standard Time Agent Vortex Manipulator, Series Six, Mark Nine; DNA-coded for additional security," she recited. "Spatiotemporal circuit's fried, though." She released his hand. "You're stuck here, too, aren't you?"

Jack nodded, closing the wrist strap's access panel. "Yep."

"Sorry for both of us, then. Have you tried hitchhiking to the SP yourself?" she asked.

"No," Jack said. "I doubt they'd help me – I was something of a conman, though that was long ago and far away. You know they've got records in both directions. I don't want to wind up in a Stormcage."

Jenny nodded in agreement. "Can I ask some questions of my own now?"

"Sure," Jack allowed. "I reserve the right not to answer, though."

"Fair enough," she said. "If you were a Time Agent, how come they haven't rescued you?"

Jack winced. "Well… I sorta quit the agency. Stole my manipulator and set about conning them outta as much money as I could get away with. I'm pretty sure they're perfectly happy with me disappearing."

Jenny laughed. "If that's so, then I suppose I can't blame them."

Jack managed a small laugh of his own. "Yeah. Can't blame them any."

"And what of the rumors about you, Jack? When I was researching Torchwood, you've been mentioned in reports for way longer than anyone else. When I saw the wrist strap, I thought that might've explained it, but it's broken."

Jack ran a hand through his hair. "That's a bit complicated, Jenny."

"More complicated than stepping out of a box, fully grown?" she countered.

"Fair enough," Jack mimicked her earlier words. "I was still running cons against the Time Agency at the time. Got my hands on a Chula ambulance, had it crash-land in 1941 London, where I knew a bomb would hit it and destroy it. I'd sent a signal to a ship I'd thought was another Time Agent's, but that's not who it turned out being."

"The Doctor," Jenny said.

Jack nodded. "The Doctor," he agreed. "Anyway, turned out the nanites in the ambulance had escaped and were causing all sorts of problems. I helped fix the problems, then found myself traveling with the Doctor. Wasn't with him for very long. Wound up in the year two-hundred-one-hundred. Some very nasty stuff happened and I got killed in the process," seeing that Jenny was about to interrupt, he held a finger against her lips. "No, I'm not still dead, obviously. I don't know what happened, but I came back to life to find the Doctor had left me behind. I set my manipulator for twenty-first century Earth – the other person traveling with him was from there-then – and activated it, hoping to catch up with him. Damn thing dropped me here – in Cardiff – a hundred and thirty-six years from when it was supposed to. The circuit fried at the same time. I've been stuck here ever since mid-May of 1869."

Jack lowered his finger from her mouth and Jenny thought hard and fast, quickly adding up the evidence. "So… You can't die, can you?"

Jack shrugged. "If I can, I haven't yet. Shooting, strangulation, hanging, drowning, starvation – none of it's stuck."

_That explains what I feel off of him._ Typically, Jenny could sense the people around her in her mind, their presence skittering and ephemeral. Sitting next to Jack, though, was something else altogether. A rock in a stream, time slipping around him, but never moving him. She quite liked the implied permanence; there was something settling about it that soothed an itch she hadn't been aware of having. The other implication of his admission took another second for her brain to work out. "I'm sorry," she said, taking his hands in her own.

Jack saw sadness surfacing in her eyes. "What for? None of it's your fault."

She shook her head. "Not what I meant. You just go on and on. You don't age, not from the photos I've seen. But everyone around you _does_ and dies or moves on. I'm sorry for _that_. It must be lonely."

For the first time in his extremely long life, Jack was presented with a reaction he'd never before seen. Compassion. Not disbelief. Not shock. Not envy. Not even disgust. _Compassion_. Someone had managed to see the downside of immortality without him having to paint them a picture. "Thank you," he eventually managed to choke the words out.

Jenny cleared her throat. "You're welcome, though I don't know what for."

Jack shook his head. "Just… You're a rarity, do you know that?"

She shrugged, letting go of Jack. "If you say so."

"I do say so," Jack assured her. He finally helped himself to her tin of biscuits. "Okay, time to change the subject," he said around a mouthful of crumbs.

"To what?" she asked.

"Well, since we can't send you home – yet – I have an idea."

"Yet?"

"The Doctor will show up, of that I have no doubt whatsoever. I'm just biding my time, waiting for a version of him that syncs with knowing me. When he finally arrives, we can check to see if he knows you, too. If he doesn't, we can wait a while longer. In the meantime, you said it yourself – it's hard to stay in one place for long without a job."

"You mean, work for you?"

Jack nodded. "Could use your help. You can't argue you're wasted on the Cardiff police."

Jenny grinned. Sure, it wasn't quite the result she'd been hoping for from Torchwood, but she had to admit that Jack had a point. "True. Let me officially quit, though. Since you're stationed here, it'd make the most sense to keep the same ID. Besides, I've made some friends. Wouldn't want them to think I'd just disappeared, to say nothing of how awkward it could get if I ran into them down at the pub or something."

"Okay. How's three days for you?"

"Should be plenty of time," Jenny agreed.

Jack checked his watch. "See you on Wednesday, then," he said, standing. "Come to the tourist info center on the bay, it's beneath the Plass. Hard to miss, if you're looking for it."

"See you then," Jenny replied, walking Jack to the door.

_This is going to be interesting,_ they both managed the thought simultaneously, as Jenny shut the door behind Jack, and as Jack walked out of her building and towards the Hub. _Don't know what else it's going to be, but 'interesting' is definitely a good word._

* * *

**A/N2:** I struggled with whether or not to put this into the crossover section, considering that Torchwood is part of the greater Whoverse to begin with. Eventually, I decided to list it thus, even though it isn't really (other than as the origin of the second main character), as one needn't have followed Doctor Who to really understand this particular story. Also, I feel I ought to warn you that this won't be a Jenny/Jack romance. I don't do romance well or often, so I can safely say this won't be one. The keen observer will also realize I've tweaked timelines somewhat – this was because reconciling Doctor Who and Torchwood dates is nearly impossible. I hope you all can forgive the tweaking. I did it to save my sanity.

Also, updates will come as they will for this. I'm working on the last chapter of my Sherlock AU, which has been giving me fits, as well as my other AUs (none of which have been abandoned, regardless of how long its been since I've updated). I tend to write for whichever musebunny screams the loudest. This week, it was this one. Next week, it might not be.

Kindly let me know what y'all think. Thanks in advance.


	2. Suzie Costello

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'Torchwood'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** I should point out that I'm only using the TV shows (and miniseries) as the canon source for this particular story; though some small details from the radio dramas and comics and such will be used, the stories covered from those alternate sources aren't going to be taken into consideration.

* * *

**Synchronicity**

_Chapter Two: Suzie Costello  
_

_22 October, 2006  
09:19_

Though Jack had given her three full days, she didn't really need it. She had reached her goal – she was finally part of something that had a chance of getting her back to when she belonged. She wasn't about to waste any more time.

Jenny typed up a letter of resignation, gathered the various bits of whatnot that technically didn't belong to her, and headed in to work. After turning it all in to her direct supervisor – an odious little man who made slime mold seem fun – she set about letting the friends she'd made know she'd accepted an offer to work for Torchwood.

She ran into Yvonne on the stairs. "You've done _what_? Have you lost your bloody mind, girl?" Jenny felt it was obvious Yvonne disapproved. "_Torchwood_?"

Jenny just laughed. "Oh, come on! You know I was starting to get bored breaking up fights, Yvonne. I'd been planning to apply to something more exciting ever since I started – was just biding my time, you know that."

"I know, I know," Yvonne replied. "Just… What about the rumors?"

Jenny nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly!"

The older policewoman let out a sigh. "On your own head be it. Just… Be careful, will you? And keep in touch!"

"Definitely, to both," Jenny reassured her, then watched as she headed off on business.

From the main hall, Jenny headed to the CID. The DI in charge of the latest string of unsolved murders was George Williams – who was one of the few people, along with Emma, her next-door neighbor, and Andy, that Jenny knew she could call for _anything_. "Morning, George. How's it going?" she motioned to the corkboard full of photos and other information about his case.

"Morning to yourself, Jen. Julia sends her love and wants to know if you're free for tea Saturday?" George replied, looking grateful for an excuse to take a quick break.

"Don't know yet," Jenny said, looking at the newest addition to the board. The photo of the man from last night was partially obscured by a computer printout of a triple-bladed dagger. _What, do they have a full set of Irkanes-Shethka armor just lying about?_ "I'll let you know."

"Nasty-looking piece of work, isn't it?" George said, coming to stand just behind her. "They worked it out on the computer; took measurements from the wounds, calculated the shape of the blade, even the prongs on the sides."

"Pretty, for a murder weapon," Jenny said, taking care not to let her recognition of the dagger show on her face.

"I suppose I can see that. You don't recognize it, do you?" George's voice was hopeful.

"Sorry," Jenny said, facing him with a small smile. "I don't. Closest I've seen is that spiral-bladed knife I found online a couple of months ago."

George let out a disappointed sigh. "Well, if it rings any bells, give us a shout."

"I will," Jenny promised. _Though I won't. You really don't want to mess about with it. Trust me._ "Anyway, I did drop by for a reason."

"Oh, yeah – weren't you supposed to be home sick today?"

Shrugging, Jenny said, "I'm feeling a lot better. But I wanted to let you know I've got a new job."

"Don't tell me you're leaving us! Did they transfer you? Is that it?"

Jenny giggled. "Calm down, George. I'm not leaving town. My new job's still here in Cardiff, only I'll be working for Torchwood."

George grinned at her. "Good on you, sweetheart!" He gave her a hug. "I know that's what you wanted." Releasing her from the hug, he kept his hands on her shoulders and took a small step back. "But listen – if it winds up being not what you're hoping, keep in mind you can always come back. And you had _better_ stay in touch, else I'll sic Julia on you."

Jenny snapped off a sarcastic salute. "Yes, sir!" They managed to keep straight faces for almost a full beat before they both dissolved into laughter.

"None of that, mind," George said. "You always do manage to make me smile, Jenny, no matter how grim this job gets. I'm gonna miss you hanging about."

"And I'm sure I'll miss hanging about, but I've got to do this. I've _got_ to."

"I know, sweetheart." George glanced behind Jenny. "Damn," he muttered under his breath. "Back to work," he said, releasing Jenny's shoulders.

"Call you later?" Jenny said. On receiving a nod from George, she turned to leave, only to halt in her tracks. _Why's Suzie Costello here?_ "Oh, hello," she greeted the tall brunette.

Suzie took in Jenny's youthful appearance, complete with jeans, rock'n'roll t-shirt, and battered jacket, then summarily dismissed her. "Detective Inspector Williams?" she asked.

George nodded, "That's me."

Jenny stepped out of the way, heading for the door, as Suzie said, "I'm Agent Costello from Torchwood. We spoke on the phone?"

Jenny halted in the corridor; George was saying, "Yes, I recall, Miss Costello. How can I assist Torchwood today?"

"I know that we – Torchwood – aren't particularly well thought of by the local police force," Suzie replied, walking over to where George still stood next to the corkboard.

Jenny silently slipped back into the room and hid herself next to a large potted plant with half-dead leaves. "I'd say that's a fair assessment," George said, his voice as cold as Jenny had ever heard it. "You lot just swan in and traipse all over my crime scenes. Have you any idea the sheer amount of exclusionary work you create?" Jenny winced a little. George was beginning to get angry.

Jenny got out her MPEA and swiftly changed a setting on her Second Skin while continuing to eavesdrop on George's conversation with Suzie. Suzie nodded at George's accusation. "Yes, I do realize we wind up creating a bit more forensics work from time to time." Jenny could hear something syrupy in Suzie's voice and she grimaced. _Doesn't know George, does she? He can spot a smarmy git spinning a cover-story a mile away. It's what I like about him._ "It's why I've been sent," Suzie continued. "The higher-ups thought it would be best that we work together on this latest case of yours."

"Oh, they did, did they? Then why is this the first I've heard of it?" George asked. "Look, lady – I'm sure your heart's in the right place," he sounded anything but sincere, "but these sorts of things have channels. How about you do this properly, Miss Costello, because I'm disinclined to give you so much as the time of day right now, let alone details on my cases." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Now get out of my office."

"As you wish, Detective Inspector," Suzie calmly replied. She turned and left, but Jenny could see a definite smirk on the woman's face.

_She's up to something._ Jenny used her MPEA to up the perception filter being emitted by her Second Skin to its maximum setting, then dialed her boots to their quietest tread and hurried after Costello. _And I'm gonna find out what._

Following Suzie Costello was one of the most boring activities in which Jenny had ever engaged. From the police station, she headed to a coffee shop, bought a large non-caf sugar-free fat-free latte – _honestly, what's the point?_ – and worked on her laptop for half an hour. From there, she stopped by a dry-cleaner and picked up two plastic-wrapped hangars of what Jenny assumed to be either coats or dresses; she couldn't see through the opaque plastic, but both were too long to be shirts or trousers or skirts. From the dry-cleaner, Suzie walked home.

Jenny lingered in the doorway to Suzie's building, debating on whether or not to follow, before squaring her shoulders and hurrying to catch up before her quarry could lock the door. She was a half-second late getting there. Pressing her ear against the white-painted wood, she listened. From the sounds, she could tell that Suzie was hanging up her coat, then rifling through her mail. Footsteps clunked across hardwood flooring away from the door. Faintly, Jenny heard the distinctive sound of a shower starting up. She counted to sixty, allowing time for the water to warm and for Suzie to get on with it, before removing a small leather pouch from one of her jacket's many pockets.

It wasn't but ten seconds before she had Suzie's deadbolt jimmied. Jenny put her picks away as she entered the unfamiliar flat. She quickly paged through Costello's mail, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Turning her attention to the woman's overly-large purse, Jenny quietly rummaged in its contents.

"Oh," she whispered on locating the Irkanes-Shethka dagger lying neatly along the bag's bottom seams. _Explains why she's so interested in George's investigation._ She grabbed her MPEA and accessed the camera function. She took several photos, her mind whirring along, trying to find some way to make the situation less messy. Hearing the shower shut off snapped her attention away from the incriminating weapon. _Damn it. Any way I look at this, it's a mess._ She put her MPEA back into its holster, then swiftly exited Suzie's apartment.

Ducking into a nearby alley, she turned off her Second Skin's perception filter, then headed towards the bay. As she walked, she dug out her mobile phone and called George's desk line. He picked up after two rings. "DI Williams."

"Hey, George – it's Jenny. I need to speak with you." She glanced at the clock in the corner of her phone's screen.

"What about?" George asked, overly-curious. "I mean, you were just here not even two hours ago."

"It's about your case, George. I found that knife." She hurried up to a busy intersection and whistled shrilly on spotting a taxi.

"God, girl! Don't do that to my ears!" George chastised, then enthused, "That's fantastic! How about you come in and tell me what you know about it?"

"Can't. Can you meet me at Roald Dhal Plass? Quick-like." Jenny slid into the taxi's back seat. "Roald Dhal Plass," she informed the driver.

"Sure. Be there in, say, twenty minutes?"

Jenny smiled. "See you then." She disconnected the call and spent the next ten minutes fidgeting, silently willing the driver to hurry up and wishing Jack had given her his mobile number.

On _finally_ reaching her destination, she threw half again too much money at the surprised driver, then sprinted out of the car. It took her about five minutes of poking around to locate the tourist office Jack had mentioned. She banged her way through the door, startling a young man in a business suit who'd been sitting behind the counter. "Can I help you?" he asked, quickly recovering.

"Oh, I'm sure you can," Jenny grinned at him, liking what she saw. "But I need to speak to Jack. Is he in?"

The man gave a passable imitation of confusion as he asked, "Who?"

Jenny rolled her eyes. "Oh, I so don't have time for this!" She glanced around the dingy shop-front and spotted a security camera in an upper corner. "Jack Harkness!" she shouted at it, then switched over to Galactic Standard. "You've got trouble! Get your immortal ass up here and speak to me!"

Ianto Jones had seen quite a bit of the strange and bizarre and downright horrifying in his tenure at both Torchwood One and Three, but the pretty blonde girl hurling invective at his security system in a language he couldn't place was rapidly taking second place in his 'most terrifying' list. He rapidly dialed Jack's number. "Yes, sir, we've something of a problem in the tourist center. There's a girl here, demanding to speak to you." Closing his mobile, he cleared his throat. "He's on his way up," he said, cutting off another incomprehensible string of syllables.

Jenny stopped mid-word. "Oh," she relaxed a little. "That's alright then."

Two minutes later, and Jack strode through the hidden door, a bright smile on his face. "Jenny! Thought I said three days."

"You did, but there's something I've found out you need to know, sooner rather than later," she followed Jack's example and used English. "Can we speak outside?"

Jack seemed to sense her deadly seriousness and nodded. "Sure." He ushered her out to the walkway next to the water.

Before he could ask anything, Jenny's phone rang. She quickly flipped it open. "Hey. I'm down by that tourist info center. Hurry."

As she closed it and returned it to her pocket, Jack asked, "What's this about, Jenny?"

"Just a moment, Jack – there's someone else who needs to hear this."

A short while later, DI George Williams rounded the corner where the stairs led up to the Plass. "Jenny! What the bloody hell is going on?" he started off shouting, but dropped to a more reasonable tone of voice as he hurried over to her. He eyed Jack distrustfully, then sighed. "Might've known."

"George, you can rip into Jack later for poaching me. This is important," Jenny chided. She got out her MPEA and scrolled through the options, then opened her saved photos. "Okay," she said, looking from Jack to George and back. "Like I told you, George – I found that knife you're looking for."

"What's it got to do with himself, then?" George indicated Jack with a negligent wave of his hand.

"Hey!" Jack protested, but it was only a halfhearted attempt – he knew full well what the local police thought of him and Torchwood.

"Jack," Jenny stepped over to him, holding out her MPEA. "I found the murder weapon used on George's victims in Suzie Costello's purse."

Jack peered at the screen. He recognized not just his Second's over-large bag, but the coffee table on which it was sitting. He likewise recognized the dagger nestled among makeup, tissues, pens, a checkbook, the alien gauntlet, and a Torchwood-issue handgun. "Damn it," he said, the words taking on a venom usually reserved for the most dire of situations.

George sidled over and looked at the photo on the MPEA's screen. He let out a small growl. "I'd wondered why the sudden interest by Torchwood into a string of common murders," he said. "Costello dropped by this morning, poking around."

"Probably wanted to make sure you were clueless," Jack said, fury all but pouring off of him. _How could I have made a mistake this big? Thought I was better at reading people than this._ Jack ran a hand through his hair. It didn't take a genius to connect the dots. _That damn glove. Knew there was something fishy about it. Knew Suzie was getting a little obsessed by it. Didn't think it'd go this far, though._ He quickly came to a decision.

"Okay," Jack said, pacing a little. "Okay. Look, that knife is classified," he said to George. "It's not _just_ a knife. I can't afford it leaving Torchwood's control."

George looked a little skeptical, but managed to keep it out of his voice. "Alright. Where does that leave us? My investigation?"

Jack continued to pace. Jenny cleared her throat, capturing the attention of both men. "Well," she said, "from what I can see, your investigation is complete. You know who killed those people. Stamp the file as 'closed', tag it Torchwood-related, then let Jack take care of it. I don't think he'd let her kill again." She landed her eyes on the captain. "Right, Jack?"

"Absolutely," Jack replied, his entire manner indicating it was a promise all but etched in stone. _The vaults? Cryo? Retcon?_ The options flashed through his mind at a dizzying speed.

Though it had been somewhat disconcerting to see the infamous Captain Harkness without his trademark vintage coat, George managed to see the leader behind the wool. It managed to soothe some of his problems with the covert facility. _Besides, it's good to see he cares about his people. Especially since Jenny's going to be one of them._ This hadn't been the first time George had seen someone lose it and wind up on the wrong side of the law. It also hadn't escaped his attention that the captain was blaming himself, as any good leader did when one of their people went wrong. "I'll hold you to that, Captain," George said, a hint of 'or else' underscoring his words.

"You won't have to," Jack darkly replied, meeting the DI's eyes.

They shared a nod, then George looked to Jenny. "Tea Saturday. No excuses, missy," he waggled a finger at her.

"Okay," Jenny agreed. "Tea on Saturday."

"I'd best get back and figure out how to file the paperwork on this," George said, punctuating it with a put-upon sigh. "Take care, sweetheart," he said, kissing Jenny's cheek in goodbye, then heading back the way he'd come.

"Should I be jealous?" Jack joked, gesturing for Jenny to follow him into the tourist info office.

"Nah," Jenny said. "George's kinda like my adopted uncle."

On entering the office, Jack dropped his smile and pinned the suit-bedecked kid with his gaze. "Call in Tosh and Owen. Meeting in the conference room in half an hour. Make sure there's lunch handy, and under no circumstances contact Suzie."

"Yes, sir," the youth replied, curiosity rampant in his expression.

Jack hit the button to open the secret door and ushered Jenny through it. "You don't take time off, do you?" he asked after the door shut behind him, using Galactic Standard.

Jenny shrugged as she began heading down the stairs. "Had planned to. Went to the station today to hand in my resignation and let a few friends know what I was doing."

"Which friends? What'd you tell them?" Jack asked, a little too-curious for Jenny's liking.

"Just some of the people I've worked with the past few months, Jack," she said, looking over her shoulder. "Let them know Torchwood poached me."

"What do they know of what we do?"

"Nothing they didn't already," Jenny reassured him. "I rather figured you wanted Torchwood's main objective kept secret."

"Which raises a good question – how'd _you_ know about us?"

Jenny handed him her MPEA. "It's not just a PDA, you know. Picked it up on the outskirts of the Lotus Nebula, 6013. Latest-model Multi-Purpose Electronic Assistant, slaved to my Second Skin. The security protocols of this time zone are laughably easy for it to bypass. Read up on Torchwood and UNIT when I was hiding in London."

Jack let out an appreciative whistle and handed the gadget back to Jenny. "Would you consider letting Toshiko – she's my tech-expert – take a look at it?"

"As long as she doesn't damage it," Jenny agreed. "Without it, I can't adjust my Second Skin any, which could be… problematical."

"Any nifty upgrades to the body-armor?" Jack asked as they rounded a sign that marked the halfway point in the stairwell.

"Don't know. It's got an imbedded perception filter, a shimmer, and the temperature-control, of course."

"Wish we had enough of them for everyone," Jack commented. "Could be useful."

"Well, I do know how they're made. Could give you the synthetic spider-silk formula," Jenny said, nonchalantly.

"How'd you manage to get your hands on _that_?"

"Oh," Jenny cast a coy look back at her new boss, "a little corporate espionage, of course. Nearly fifty thousand credits for that job."

Jack laughed. "You were _definitely_ wasted on the Cardiff police!" _And related to the Doctor or not, she really isn't much like him, is she?_

The pair came to a halt at a heavy-duty cogwheel door. Jack swiped his access card and it rolled out of the way. "Welcome to Torchwood Three: Cardiff. We just call it the Hub, though." He let Jenny gawk at the space for a minute, then switched to English and said, "The conference room's this way."

In truth, Jenny was slightly disappointed by the Hub. It wasn't nearly as high-tech – nor as clean – as she had expected. _I wonder how much of that is because the base hasn't been rebuilt like the London branch's was, and how much of it is because of the man in charge?_ She shook off the disappointment and followed Jack to the conference room. Jack motioned for her to take a seat, then disappeared for a couple of minutes.

On reappearing, he handed her a swipe-card identical to the one he'd used to open the cog-wheel door and a small brass key. "Key's to the main entrance up in the tourist info center. Swipe-card's for just about everything else. Some of the doors require an additional security code. I'd take it as a personal favor if you'd stay out of those areas for now."

"I'll take it under advisement," Jenny dryly replied. "What sorts of things are under guard, then?"

"Archives, mostly. The alien morgue. The secure archives. Some of the storage areas where we keep things a bit more exotic than copier-paper," Jack explained. "For now, you're likely going to be working with Tosh. We've got a massive backlog of junk the rift's pulled through that needs sorted and categorized."

"Who knows, maybe my way home is in there somewhere." Jenny gave Jack her best smile. "Maybe a way to fix your wrist-strap, too."

"Could be," Jack agreed, though he doubted it. _If Faith was right, I doubt I'm ever going to get that damn thing working again. But who knows? Jenny could be right. Might be they're _both_ right – Faith simply indicated I'd have to wait for the century to turn twice before I found the Doctor again. It's done that. She never mentioned _how_ I'd find him._ "Anyway, how're you on weapons?" He almost hadn't asked. _The Doctor was so against weapons and violence unless every other angle had been tried first…_

Jenny shrugged. "I do alright," she said. "That Progenation Unit I came from was for making soldiers. I know my way around most weapons, though I prefer my neutron pistol."

Jack blinked at her. "You've got a neutron pistol." _Those were still in testing when I left the Time Agency._

"Yes. Fifty percent discount, since I bought it at the same time I bought my Second Skin. Pretty good deal. Even tied a bio-lock on it." _Actually, it's slaved to my Second Skin. Won't fire unless it's got a clear signal. Can't let him know everything, after all._ "I'll bring it in tomorrow and you can drool over it to your heart's content."

Jack shook his head, wiping away daydreams of superior firepower. "What about hand-to-hand?"

"Again – created soldier, Jack. I'm a lot stronger than I look."

"We'll see about that," Jack said, mentally compiling a rather lengthy list of what Jenny would need evaluated on, what she could help out with immediately, and what would need training.

Ianto appeared, carrying a bag of sandwiches from the deli a couple of blocks over and halting any further conversation. "Owen and Tosh will be here in a few minutes, sir," he said, setting the paper bag on the table. He dug into it and pulled out a white styrofoam container. "BLT, toast, no mayonnaise," he said, handing it to Jack. A second container was laid in front of an empty chair, "Smoked salmon for Tosh." The third was, "Roast beef and pickle," for Owen. He stood across the table from Jenny. "My apologies – I wasn't sure what you would prefer, so I got you a simple chicken salad."

Jenny took the container. "Not picky, me. Just nothing with mushrooms, okay? And pears. I _hate_ pears. _Loathe_ them, even."

Jack chuckled. _Now _that_ sounds like the Doctor._ He ignored Ianto's questioning look and sprawled on his head-of-the-table chair. "That a new suit, Ianto?" he asked, watching him retrieve bottles of water from the small fridge that stood in the corner.

"Harassment, sir," Ianto didn't miss a beat. "Thought we talked about that?"

Jenny looked from Jack to Ianto and back, then grinned. Jack winked at her. "Guess it didn't take," he said, then dug into his sandwich.

_Think I'm going to like working here,_ Jenny thought, following Jack's example and focusing on her lunch. Toshiko Sato and Dr. Harper showed about the same time she was finishing up. Jack had already finished. "Have a seat, guys," he said, gesturing to their normal seats. "We've got a couple of things to go over." He waited until they'd settled in, then said, "Firstly, meet Jenny Thomas. She's our new recruit. For now, she'll be working with you, Tosh."

"Pleased to meet you," Toshiko said, eyeing the blonde in their midst.

Jenny could tell she was unimpressed and felt a little put-out at the fact. _It's not like I asked to look like a teenager,_ she thought, but kept it off her face. "Likewise," she said, smiling at Toshiko.

"Next up," Jack said, tearing their attention back to him, "we've got a problem with Suzie." He went on to describe how their teammate was murdering people, the same people they'd then had her practice using the gauntlet on.

"I told you that thing was dangerous!" Owen exclaimed, then began to rant about how nobody listened to him.

"There wasn't anything in the scans that could explain it," Tosh was babbling her own version of a rant at the news.

Jack looked at Jenny and rolled his eyes, then cut through the others' chatter with a loud, "Hey! You're missing the issue."

"And what might that be, oh fearless leader?" Owen snarked.

"What are we gonna do about it?" Jack asked. "From what I can see, we've got three options, none of which are particularly palatable. One: we lock her in the vaults. Personally, I'm against the idea. She knows too much about how the system operates and wouldn't be fully secure there."

The gravity of the situation finally seemed to be seeping into the medic's skull. "What're the other options?" he asked.

"Two," Jack said, "we could put her in one of the cryo pods. It doesn't exactly fix much, but she wouldn't be out there killing people any more." When nobody argued, he continued, "And three: retcon. Wipe away her entire time here."

"And if she keeps on killing people?" Owen asked.

"At least it won't be Torchwood's problem," Ianto commented.

"Nobody asked you, Tea Boy!" Owen fired at the suit.

"Can it, Owen – Ianto's got as much right as you do to an opinion," Jack growled.

"I don't like the thought of the vaults, or putting her in cryo," Tosh said in the ensuing silence. "I vote retcon. If her doing this was a result of that glove and knife she's been obsessing over, then wiping her memory is really the only way to fix it."

Jenny felt like she'd been watching a Penskiirball tournament in how the opinions had been bouncing back and forth. "Can I ask a question?"

Owen rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut it, blondie – just because Jack's taken a fancy to you doesn't mean you get a say in this. Leave this to the grown-ups."

Instant rage bubbled up inside Jenny. "I'm gonna kill him," she growled in Galactic Standard.

"Down, girl," Jack warned, using English.

"What the hell was that? Bulgarian?" Owen asked, his derision towards their newest member still riding high. He summarily dismissed her. "But back to the problem. You can't know that retcon would have any effect at all. If the glove's influencing her, won't that link still exist, even if she doesn't remember Torchwood?"

Tosh winced. "That's a valid point. We know almost nothing about the gauntlet or the knife."

"If you all would just shut up for a damn minute!" Jenny shouted with a volume none of them expected. Ianto winced a bit and wasn't alone in rubbing his ears.

"Something to say, Jenny?" Jack asked, not bothering to hide his amusement.

"Yes, thank you," Jenny primly replied. "That gauntlet is a piece of an Irkanes-Shethka set of armor. Semi-sentient, it locks onto the most compatible mind and slowly converts them into an Irkanes-Shethka warrior; said warrior's primary objective would be to contact the homeworld, then – by _any means_ – go there. Life energy is what powers it, absorbed through the dagger. And I hope you children don't have a full set of the armor lying about – the last time I tangled with it, I barely escaped. I am _not_ going through that again."

Before any of the others could ask their own questions, Jack asked, "Can you sever the connection between the gauntlet and Suzie?"

"Not safely," Jenny replied. "You can destroy the gauntlet, but it won't actually sever the connection unless the other gauntlet's already been destroyed. Has it?"

Jack shook his head. "We don't know. We only found the one and the knife."

"Then I wouldn't hold out hope on that score. Though they're incredibly brittle, shattering if you can hit it hard enough in just the right place, they're also rather resilient, surviving things you wouldn't believe," Jenny explained.

Jack frowned, his mind trying desperately to come up with an alternate solution. He couldn't. Slumping in his chair, he said, "Then I guess there's only really one option, isn't there?"

"Two," Jenny argued.

Jack looked up and searched his newest recruit's face. He didn't much like what he saw there. "No," he insisted. "_One_. I'm not killing her for something that was beyond her control."

"Tai-durekka," Jenny calmly replied.

'_On your own head be it' is the best translation,_ Jack thought. Smiling grimly at her, he said, "It usually is." _Need to tell her to tone down the GS-speak in front of the others._

In the end, it was almost anticlimactic. Suzie came in when Jack called, ostensibly to go over her findings regarding the glove and dagger. A cup of Ianto's best coffee, laced with a sedative, did most of the work. An hour later, and Owen and Jack were down in the morgue, pushing the cryo-pod into an empty bay. "At least we can look for a way to sever that connection without having to worry about more dead bodies turning up," Owen commented.

Jack shrugged. "Wish it could've been different."

As they walked back towards the Hub's main floor, Owen asked, "Why the new girl?"

"You can't argue that we could use the help."

"Yeah," Owen allowed. "But why her, specifically?"

Jack just smiled and quickened his pace, leaving Owen behind. "Damn it, Jack! Answer me!" chased Jack nearly all the way back to his office.

* * *

**A/N2:** Do I have to remind y'all that this is AU? Thought not.

Anyway, don't get too used to the speedy updates. Like I said before, I'm only working on this because this particular musebunny is being particularly irritating lately and not letting me work on anything else at the moment. Whether or not I can keep up this pace through the end of the story remains to be seen.

Kindly let me know what y'all think. Thanks in advance.


	3. Whys

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'Torchwood'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** Though I've _reams_ of notes for later episodes, I didn't really have much for 'Day One'. So, though this won't always be the case, this episode isn't going to vary much from how it was aired, despite Jenny in Gwen's place. Ergo, I'm trying to focus more on the characters than the plot. You'll need to tell me how well I'm doing. (Note – this episode will encompass two chapters).

* * *

**Synchronicity**

_Chapter Three: Whys_

_22 October, 2006  
21:44_

Jack leaned on the railing of the walkway that linked his office to the cobbled-together hothouse, watching his team working below. He'd told them to finish up their reports on what'd happened with Suzie, then head on home, but it appeared that none of them had taken the second half of his advice. Tosh was geeking out over Jenny's MPEA while the blonde attempted to describe how it worked. Owen was shamelessly eavesdropping while seemingly reading something-or-other on his computer. Ianto emerged from the kitchen, a fresh mug of something hot and steamy in his hands. He smirked a little, letting the boy's figure momentarily distract him from what he'd been forced to do to his Second. _I'm certain that's a new suit. Tailored, too, unless I miss my guess._

"…draws energy from my Second Skin," Jenny's voice drifted up.

"And what's that?" Toshiko replied, fingers poised over her keyboard, taking notes.

Jack let the technobabble wash over him. It was both familiar and somewhat disconcerting – it strongly reminded him of the Doctor's more manic moments, when his enthusiasm was nearly palpable, but to hear it in Jenny's sweet voice was jarring. If he were completely honest, Jenny reminded him of Rose, too. _That streak of stubborn's the same… though, to be fair, the Doctor was the most stubborn man I've ever met. But Jenny does it in style. Like Rose did. _He sighed a little. _How is it I still miss them? I miss the adventures, sure, but not as much as I used to, not since working here full-time. I miss Rose the most._ His memory flashed back to receiving the list of the dead from the Battle of Canary Wharf, to reading Rose Tyler's name in stark black-and-white print. _I shoulda tried harder to get there. I don't care that the rift didn't like what Hartman was doing in London – spiking violently every time those damn ghosts showed up. I shoulda let the team handle the spikes and gotten my ass to T1. Maybe I coulda saved you, Rosie._

"…account for the discrepancy in body weight? Everyone's weight fluctuates at least a tiny bit on a day-to-day basis, how does your Second Skin account for that?" Tosh asked over the noise of her typing.

Jack experienced yet another tiny stab of jealousy that Tosh could say one thing while typing or writing another – it was a skill he'd never been able to master. He tuned out Jenny's reply. _Rose, I hope it was quick. I hope the Cybermen didn't get to you first. I don't think I could handle it if they'd 'upgraded' you first. I have to wonder what you'd think of Jenny. I can see bits of our Doctor in her, but she's definitely her own person. Hell, Rose – I wonder what you'd think of _me_ now. So much time's passed. I've changed more than I thought I ever could. Some of that was because of you, you know. Maybe more than the Doctor's influence, though I have to admit he did have a hand in it. What is it about him that makes you want to be someone he'd say he was proud to know? Why does he make people want to be the best version possible of themselves? Or was it you? I used to be a scoundrel. I can admit it – hell, I was _proud_ of it at the time. Then you showed up and simply wouldn't believe it. Wouldn't let me believe it anymore, either._ A sad, small smile twitched the corners of his mouth and eyes. _I might not understand how I wound up being what I am, Rosie, but I wouldn't trade our time on the TARDIS with the Doctor for anything._

"Oh, now you're just talking out your ass!" Owen's voice cut through the Hub like a knife. "Synthetic spider-silk? Come on! They've been trying to make that crap for decades."

"I never said I bought it _here_, now did I?" Jenny shot back. "I know the formula for making it, but I don't know how successful I can be in integrating the 'Skin's other functions with the current technology."

"Okay, it serves as, essentially, a giant battery for your computer. Bio-electricity," Tosh said, recapping what Jenny'd told her so far. "But what are these other 'features'?"

"Where'd you get it, then?" Owen asked, still flavoring his words with thinly-veiled scorn aimed at Jenny. "London?"

"How can you work _here_, of all places, dealing with aliens and things lost to time every fucking day and still manage be so small-minded I'd need a microscope to find it!" Jenny returned the volley.

Jack mentally applauded her. _Someone needs to keep Owen on his toes. And who knows? Maybe her being here is what will finally get the Doctor to drop in for a visit. UNIT records indicate his race is telepathic with one another – maybe he'll be able to sense her and we can both get some answers._ Owen had just opened his mouth to reply when a loud chime sounded, interrupting the brewing argument. Ianto stepped over to Suzie's – now Jenny's – workstation and checked the messages. "UNIT says they're tracking what seems to be a meteorite. Its path puts it down just east of town. They want to know if we'll check it out, or if they need to dispatch a team," Ianto said, his voice pitched to carry up to Jack.

"A meteorite?" Jack asked.

"Too small to be anything other than that or an escape pod, but UNIT scans of the neighborhood don't reveal any large ships in the vicinity, sir," Ianto replied. "The SUV is fully stocked, sir."

Jack thought about it for all of half a second. _Nobody seems tired in the least. Simple recovery sounds like a good way to distract myself from Suzie… and Rose._ "Okay, folks. Let's go see what piece of junk the universe is throwing at us this time."

Twenty minutes later, and Tosh, Owen, Jenny, and Jack were in the company car, Owen at the wheel, heading towards the meteorite's landing site. Tosh was working on the car's internal computer system. Jenny spent a couple of minutes poking around in it. "Don't see why you're so interested in my MPEA, Toshiko. You seem to be doing alright with your own gear," she commented, leaning back in her seat.

"Partially, it's the portability I'm jealous of," Tosh replied. "It would be inordinately handy to have all this," she nodded at the computer screens and keyboards and such, "fit in the palm of my hand."

"You got the location, yet?" Owen interrupted.

"Yes, about a hundred meters ahead, on the right."

A moment later, Owen parked the SUV with a muttered, "Shit." Jenny peered out the heavily-tinted window and spotted regular army personnel, as well as a handful of police and fire services crew, milling about outside a floodlit army tent. "The amateurs got here first," Owen bitched.

"Do you do anything but complain, Dr. Harper?" Jenny sweetly asked, then escaped any sort of snarky comeback by simple expedient of exiting the car.

Jack grinned. _Definitely a keeper._ "What're you grinning at, Jack?" Owen growled at him.

"Nothing much," Jack blithely replied, then climbed out of the SUV. Tosh and Owen quickly joined him and Jenny in gathering their field kit from the back. "Come on, then, people – usual formation," Jack ordered, striding towards the tent.

"What's the usual formation?" Jenny asked Tosh, as Owen grabbed his own kit and, grumbling under his breath, followed Jack.

"It varies," Tosh replied. "To be honest, I think he makes this stuff up half the time." She gave Jenny a quick smile, then picked up one of the cases and hurried after their boss.

Shaking her head a little, Jenny picked up the last case and caught up with Tosh as she reached the tent. They ducked inside in time to hear one of the soldiers say, "…through there, sir," to Jack. The soldier indicated the rear entrance of the tent.

Another soldier made a crack as Jenny walked past, "Looks like Torchwood's hiring them younger than ever, ain't they? Little girl like that can't have even passed her A-levels yet."

Jenny rolled her eyes. "You're just jealous I'm prettier than you are," she said, looking at the guy who'd spoken. "Then again, an anglerfish is prettier than you are. You must get slapped at pubs a _lot_." She spun on her heel and flounced after her team, the sound of the man's friends' laughter following her.

"Remind me to stay on your good side," Tosh quipped, setting her case of instruments down near the crashed meteorite.

_This was definitely a good idea,_ Jack thought, smiling, though he wasn't sure himself whether he meant hiring Jenny or the recovery trip. "What do we know?"

Owen shrugged. "Bog-standard space debris," he said authoritatively. He looked at Jenny and added, "That's a technical term."

"Maybe in Owenland," Jenny countered. "In the real world, however, it looks more like either a basic meteorite, or possibly the escape pod from half a dozen different ships. The Sycorax, in particular, tend to favor ships that can hide in an asteroid belt and not raise any eyebrows, but they're not the only ones."

"So take all the readings and figure out which it is," Jack interrupted before they could erupt into an argument.

Jenny stood back and watched as the team worked on the giant rock. _I wonder if it's always going to be like this?_ She couldn't dispute she'd quite liked the unpredictability of things so far. _If I'm stuck here, there are far worse places to be stranded than working for Torchwood._ Jenny's thoughts were inevitably interrupted by Owen. "Make yourself useful, sweetheart, and hand us the big chisel from the toolbox."

"Call me 'sweetheart' again and I'll break both your legs," Jenny stated, her tone completely and totally serious. She stooped down and picked up the chisel, then walked it over to the medic.

Owen took it with a casual, "Thanks, sweetcheeks."

"Alright, I have _had _it!" Jenny yelled, then sprang on Owen, intent to maim writ in fifty-foot letters all across her face.

The pair tumbled into the dirt, Owen losing the chisel in the process. Jack strolled over, evaluating the pair of them. _Jenny fights like a wildcat,_ he noticed. _And Owen could do with some more time in the gym._ He winced in sympathy as Jenny managed to knee Owen in the groin. _Can't say he didn't have it coming, but she fights dirty, doesn't she?_ He let Jenny continue humiliating Owen for a solid minute, then let out a shrill whistle.

The pair quit wrestling in the dirt and looked over at him. Jenny's hair-tie had gotten lost in the scuffle, and she had a smear of dirt across her nose, but Owen had the beginnings of a black eye and a trio of fingernail gouges along his left cheek. "Get this crazy bitch off me!" the doctor demanded, sounding both slightly panicked and more than a touch petulant.

"Enough you two," Jack calmly said, inclining his head to the soldiers watching through the open tent-flap. "Not in front of the peasants. Save it for when we get back home."

Jenny climbed off of Owen's chest and managed to look like nothing more than a queen rising from her throne. Owen, on the other hand, laid there for a moment, catching his breath, before sluggishly stumbling into a vertical posture. "She's not even breathing hard," he grumbled. "Not fair."

Jenny ignored him. Spotting her hair-tie, she scooped it up, and in less than twenty seconds looked just like she had on climbing out of the SUV, save for the streak of dirt across her nose. "Fair warning, Dr. Harper – if you call me anything but my name ever again, I'll add biting to the repertoire." She noticed the chisel, bent and grabbed it, then thrust it into the medic's hands.

"Jenny?" Jack called out her name and motioned for her to join him on the other side of the rock.

Grateful to put some distance between herself and Harper, Jenny joined him on Tosh's side of the meteor. "Jack?"

"Though I can understand the sentiment, please try to keep our medic in one piece in the future," Jack said quietly, smirking at her. The tap-tap-tap of Owen working underscored his comment.

"I don't promise anything," Jenny replied, keeping her own voice from carrying further than Jack. "But I'll try to keep from breaking any bones the next time he provokes me."

"You sound so sure it's going to happen again."

"Won't it?"

"You made quite an impression, Jenny, but I'll have a talk with him just to make sure it's stuck," Jack assured her, over the noise of Owen's chisel. "Now how about you have Tosh –"

"What the fuck!?" Owen's voice cut off what Jack had been about to say. A cloud of pink smoke or fog was pouring out of a crack in the rock. Jack moved faster than he thought possible, wrenching open one of the kits and tossing gas-masks to his team. For once, Owen managed to say precisely the right thing as the cloud sped off into the night, "Shit."

Five minutes later, and the team were packed back into the SUV, heading at a breakneck pace back to the Hub. Owen, for once, was keeping quiet while Jack drove. Tosh was focused on looking something up on the computer. Jenny had the box containing the chunk of the meteor Owen'd separated from the rest in her lap. Wriggling a little, she retrieved her MPEA from its holster, then slid the wireless 'wand' out of its compartment along the side of the palm-sized rectangular gadget. She opened the appropriate feature on the device, then ran the wand around the outside of the box of meteorite. A moment later, the scan results popped up on the screen. _Nothing dangerous._ She flicked the latches and opened the box, then repeated the same scan on the chunk of rock.

Tosh glanced over at her. "What are you doing?"

"Seeing what we've got," Jenny replied, focusing on her MPEA.

"And what is it?"

"Mostly alloys – I'm not familiar with this specific blend, though. Definitely manufactured, though." She looked up and glared through the computer screen and seat to the back of Owen's head. "So much for 'bog-standard space debris'."

"Let me see?" Tosh leaned to the side.

Jenny turned her MPEA so that Tosh could see the screen. "Do you recognize it?"

The screen displayed images of half a dozen molecular models, paired with small text in an unfamiliar language. Tosh frowned. "What language is that?"

Jenny glanced at the screen. "Sorry," she said, then tapped a few commands into the device. "Better?" she asked, turning it back so Tosh could read it.

"Much," Tosh replied, adjusting her glasses and peering at the small screen. "Iron, yttrium, osmium, titanium… Doesn't sound much like anything I've seen before, either. What about these?" she pointed to a secondary set of readings along the bottom of the screen.

"Not part of the shell of the ship," Jenny replied. "Those are traces – I'd guess it's from whatever it was that Owen let out."

"Vorax and suranium," Tosh read aloud. "Neither sound familiar."

"Can you trace them?" Jack asked, making a sharp left-hand turn.

"Maybe," Tosh allowed. "Have a few ideas," she said, typing furiously. "If I tweak the atmospheric reading program for our PDAs…" her words trailed off as she matched actions to ideas.

A couple of minutes later, Jack pulled the SUV into its parking place and everyone piled out. He took the case containing the shell fragment of the 'ship' and led the way down into the Hub. "So," he said on reaching the main floor. "Not _quite_ the simple retrieval I'd pictured." He sat the case he was carrying down on the nearest workbench. Tosh maneuvered around him and went back to whatever programming adjustments she'd conceived of while still in the car.

Ianto joined the group milling around the area behind their resident technology genius. "It didn't go well, I take it?" he asked, eyeing Owen's black eye.

Jack shrugged, "When does it ever?" He flipped the latch on the case. "On the upside, we've got some decent evidence."

"What happened?" Ianto asked, gaze flickering to the rock.

Jenny rolled her eyes. "Oh, just Dr. Gormless over there," she flung an accusatory arm at Owen, "released a cloud of potentially toxic gas from the rock or ship or pod or whatever-it-is."

"I was doing my job!" Owen defensively ground out. "_Some_ of us don't have the luxury of just standing about, looking pretty!"

"Owen," Jack warned.

"Oh, come off it, _Captain_!" Owen was in full rant-mode. "Just 'cause you'll shag anyone who'll stand still long enough is no reason to bloody _hire_ Miss Jailbait here!"

Jenny growled and was just about to spring on Owen again when Jack stepped between them. "Neutral corners! Owen, I hired Jenny because I thought she'd be an asset to the team. You can hardly expect her to know what she's doing on her first day. And Jenny, lay off Owen. Any one of us could have wound up releasing that gas." Meeting first Owen's, then Jenny's eyes, he waited until they backed down. "Okay, then – Tosh, how're you coming on that upgrade?"

"Nearly done," she said, returning her attention to her keyboard.

"Ianto, has anything come through the system that might be related?" Jack turned to their resident dogsbody.

"I'll check," Ianto replied, stepping over to a spare computer. A couple of moments later, he nodded. "Yes – there's been a death at a nightclub phoned in to 999. Circumstances sound a little unusual."

"Send the address to the GPS in the SUV," Jack ordered. "Tosh?"

Hitting a few final keystrokes, she smiled triumphantly. "Done."

"Good," Jack grinned. "You're with me. Owen, you start analysis on that rock. Ianto, you show Jenny around, maybe give her a rundown on the regs." As Tosh finished transferring the updated program to her custom PDA, Jack leaned to whisper in Ianto's ear, "Keep them from killing each other. Stun guns might be necessary."

The faintest hint of a smirk twisted Ianto's expression. "Certainly, sir."

Ten minutes later, and Jack was following the GPS instructions towards the nightclub. Tosh finished double-checking that her PDA was set and ready to go, then tucked it into her coat pocket. "Jack?"

"Yeah?" Jack distractedly hit the toggle switch that 'coerced' the traffic lights to turn green as they approached.

"Why _did_ you hire Jenny? Don't get me wrong, she's a sweet girl, and probably smarter than I am, but she's…"

Jack resisted the urge to sigh. "Like I said, Toshiko – I think she'd be good for the team. Was working for the Cardiff police until today, well, yesterday."

Tosh couldn't keep the surprise off her face. "Really? She seems too young for that."

Jack just shrugged. "Look her up if it'll make you feel any better." _Because I really can't say 'she's older than she looks' because that's not strictly accurate, is it? And even with everything Tosh's seen, I don't think she'd quite grasp the intricacies of a force-grown 'clone'. Oh, come on – you know she could grasp it. You just don't want to take the time right now to explain it. Besides, explain Jenny and you're gonna wind up having to explain your own situation, aren't you? Then again, it's been years and none of them have bothered looking me up in the archives. Thank all the gods that are or ever were for that. Shoulda gone through and deleted myself from the archives before hiring Suzie… Hell, what am I supposed to do about you, Suzie?_

The GPS beeped, dragging his attention back to the task at hand. Jack parked the car and, with Tosh at his side, marched up to the yellow tape barring entry to the nightclub. "Torchwood," he invoked, letting himself past the lanky redheaded PC.

Moments later, and he and Tosh were shown in to the ladies' WC. A small pile of dust marred the otherwise surprisingly-clean floor. Tosh immediately knelt and scanned the pile with her newly-upgraded PDA. "This is all that's left?" she asked, addressing the club's manager.

The man nodded. "How's that possible?"

Jack let out a small huff. "No, the question is – how do you know this used to be a body?"

The manager jerked a thumb to the CCTV camera in the corner. "Bit of a shock, I tell you," he said, a hint of embarrassment coloring his face, though he still seemed more stunned than anything else.

"We're gonna need to see the tape," Jack said.

* * *

Back at the Hub, Ianto was just finishing up showing Jenny around when his mobile rang. "Yes?" he answered it quickly, then listened for only a moment before saying, "Understood, sir." He closed the phone and returned it to his pocket. "Come along, Miss Thomas. You're about to get a crash-course in mopping up."

"Told you to call me Jenny," the blonde replied, hurrying to keep up as the suit-bedecked Welshman headed into Jack's office and turned on the computer. He hooked an earpiece around his ear while he waited for it to boot up. A couple of seconds passed, then the machine chimed. Ianto watched the screen for what felt like an eternity before hitting some keys. The printer in the corner whirred to life. Jenny walked over and picked up the printout. It was a still from a security camera of a guy in his early twenties. "Who's this, then?" she asked, handing the photo to Ianto.

"Who we're mopping up," Ianto explained.

"So that gas – it killed someone?" Though Ianto didn't look like he was hurrying in the slightest, Jenny had to jog slightly to keep up as he headed out of the office.

"That is a safe assumption, yes," Ianto distractedly replied.

They paused outside a pair of double-doors as Ianto swiped his keycard. Jenny did as she'd been doing for most of the last hour and simply followed, though once she was in the room proper, she had to stop and stare. The room wasn't very big in floor-space, but the circular area projected upwards to what, she estimated, was only a couple of feet below street level outside. The walls were nothing more than row upon row of small square doors. "Is this a morgue?" she asked.

Ianto nodded, grabbing a clipboard from a peg next to the door and began flipping through the sheaf of papers it contained. "Yes. Human only. The alien morgue is beneath us." He ran a finger under a line of text. "Ah, here we are. Drawer 214."

Jenny actually managed to feel somewhat useful in helping Ianto roll a set of stairs over to the proper place. He turned down her offer of assistance on carrying the body, however. "It's easier just to do it myself, Miss Thomas. This won't be the first body I've retrieved."

"Told you, it's Jenny," she said, backing away from the base of the stairs. She watched as Ianto pulled open the door marked '214', then slid the drawer out far enough to unzip the bag. He held the photo up to the body and nodded. Tucking the photo into the bag, he re-zipped it, then manhandled the corpse into a fireman's carry.

As he carefully descended the stairs, he said, "Do you see that control box over by the door?"

Jenny glanced over and spotted a grimy yellow box sporting a handful of grimy buttons. "Yes. What do you need me to do?"

"It's the controls for the hoist. Press the down-arrow."

She followed his instructions, and a metal stretcher descended on steel cable from the ceiling. She let up off of the button when it was at roughly table-height from the floor. "Now what?" she asked.

"Hold it steady for me." Ianto deposited the body bag on its surface, then grabbed one of the cables attached to its corners.

A few minutes later, and they'd gotten the body into what Ianto claimed as his 'prep room'. She watched as he donned a protective plastic apron, then set about artistically demolishing the body's face, obscuring the minor points that made it different from the face in the photograph. "Is this your job, then?" she asked, jumping into a seat on a spare bit of counter. "You're the 'mop up' guy?"

Ianto let out a vaguely amused noise. "It certainly feels that way."

"Sorry for being blunt, but that sounds like a shit job," Jenny said. "How come you landed with it?"

Ianto looked up at her. "I would imagine that Captain Harkness simply doesn't trust me to handle anything else. Either that, or he simply doesn't know what to do with me."

"How's that?" Jenny asked, purposefully using a tone of voice that she knew made her seem childishly sweet.

"I was a junior researcher at Torchwood London before it fell," Ianto explained, sounding like he was reading a particularly uninteresting history text than recounting his own past. "Afterwards… Well, Harkness didn't particularly want me. He never trusted Torchwood One. I would imagine that distrust extended even to those of us who had simply viewed it as a job."

"How'd you wind up here, then?" Jenny kept up the 'innocently interested' tone.

A humorless smile flashed across his face fast enough Jenny wasn't entirely sure she'd seen it. "I stalked him into hiring me."

The way he said it was enough to tell Jenny two things: Firstly, that there was definitely more to the story. Secondly, that the subject was now closed. She frowned a little, then obliged him by changing the subject. Sliding off the counter, she picked up the photo. "This the death you said was phoned in to emergency?"

Ianto nodded. "Yes."

"And what happened to his body? Why," she gestured to the man Ianto was working on, "him?"

"The video Tosh forwarded indicates the gas released was an alien entity. It's either taken a human form or a host and managed to render the man in the photo into a pile of dust," Ianto said, setting aside the chisel he'd been using on the corpse's chin. He picked up a pair of pliers.

_And since they're still stuck on trying to hide alien existence, they can't really come right out and tell the guy's family what happened to him._ Jenny looked from the photo to the corpse and back. "Question."

"Yes?" Ianto sounded slightly put-out.

"How can you be sure this body will wind up being identified as the guy in the photo? Won't they do blood tests? What if the guy from the night club had tattoos you can't see in the video?"

Ianto shrugged. "A mild dose of retcon can ensure it," he said, using the pliers to systematically remove the corpse's teeth. "But it's never been a problem in the past."

"So this happens often, does it?" Jenny wondered just how many bodies out there had been forcibly misidentified thanks to Torchwood. _Am I still sure this is the best way to go about getting back to when I belong?_

"Yes," Ianto said, pulling another tooth. He worked in silence for a bit, then set his tools down. "That ought to do it," he said, stepping back from the table."

Jenny looked. The corpse now looked like the man from the photo – albeit after having plowed face-first into a slab of concrete. She grimaced. "I honestly don't know if 'good job' really applies to something so nauseating."

That actually managed to get the rather stoic Welshman to smile at her. Granted, it wasn't a particularly large nor bright smile, but it was still an honest expression. "I believe I know what you mean… Jenny."

"What next?" she asked, returning his smile with one of her own.

* * *

**A/N2:** The animosity between Jenny and Owen sorta came right out of left field. It wasn't my intention, and it actually surprised me. Though most times, I hate it when the characters run away with the story, I kinda like it in this case. How about y'all? Whacha think? Should they continue on with the bickering, or should they manage to calm it down and learn how to get along?

Kindly let me know what y'all think. Thanks in advance.


	4. When Something is Better than Nothing

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'Torchwood'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** Okay, so when I got to this point, I realized how this version of 'Day One' would turn out. Considering I had almost no notes for this ep, I hope I did it justice.

* * *

**Synchronicity**

_Chapter Four: When Something is Better than Nothing_

_23 October, 2006  
05:02_

After helping Ianto position the body at the base of a tall building downtown – and tweaking the CCTV for the area to have suspiciously 'gone down' for an hour to either side of their arrival – Jenny returned to the Hub. Ianto disappeared to… go do whatever it was he did when not 'mopping up'. Jenny, on the other hand, quickly located the others in a small alcove. Jack was fiddling with an electronic map inset in glass on one wall while Harper watched. Tosh was, as Jenny had come to expect, typing on a nearby computer.

"Hey," Jenny greeted them. "We got that body taken care of – Ianto and me, I mean."

Jack let out a grunt-like noise that could have meant 'good' or 'about time' or possibly 'there any donuts left?', while Owen cast a glare at her. Tosh, however, looked up from her work. "And that didn't bother you?" she asked.

Jenny shrugged and leaned against the alcove's doorjamb. "Not really."

"But… it was a dead body," Tosh pressed, disbelief thick in her voice.

Jenny shrugged again. "Not like it had anyone home at the time."

"That's cold," Owen butted in. Despite being a doctor, he'd never been fully comfortable with dead bodies, and had argued with Jack more than once about using T3's store of bodies in their cover-ups.

"Don't see how it's any different than the medical professionals taking someone not even cold yet and harvesting their heart, liver, lungs, eyes and so forth so someone else can use them," Jenny replied. "Only real difference is that in this case, instead of preserving an individual's physical health, we're preserving a family's mental health."

"That's debatable," Owen argued.

"Not really – even though they still have to mourn him, it's always better to know what's happened to someone you care about," Jenny said, not rising to the animosity in Owen's voice. "At least as much as they're capable of knowing."

"You sound like you speak from experience," Tosh commented, metaphorically stepping between Jenny and Owen before the latter could pick another fight.

Jenny just shrugged once more. "I do."

Jack looked over his shoulder at the trio. "How's the ID coming, Tosh?"

"The video's still rendering," Tosh replied, glancing at her screen. "I don't know how effective it's going to be – the tape isn't in particularly good condition."

"What about that chunk of rock?" he switched his gaze to Owen.

"Basic iron-based alloy," Owen replied. "Residues lifted are still running, though."

Jack tucked the little green lighted gadget he'd been using on the map into his pocket. "Show me what you've got," he said, heading to the door. Owen trailed in his wake.

Tosh went back to her work for a moment, then glanced at Jenny. The girl was still leaning against the doorjamb, watching her. "Can I ask you a question, Jenny?"

"Sure."

"I read your official records, but there's a few things that don't ring true. I've worked for Torchwood long enough to be able to spot a cover…" She avoided Jenny's eye-contact by fiddling with her reading glasses.

"Your question?"

"Who are you?" Tosh finally met the girl's eyes. "Because you're not doing a particularly good job at following the official cover in the database. And your computer…"

Jenny smirked. "Not much reason to, Tosh. That cover was to keep me off of UNIT's radar, for the most part. Now that I'm here," she made a vague gesture that encompassed all of Torchwood, "I see no reason to stay within its confines."

"So who are you, really?"

"I think you'd call me a victim of the rift," Jenny said. "I crashed through it nearly seven years ago."

"From where?"

"Klaxin-Terrash-Nordin Three, on the outskirts of the Dogon Cluster," Jenny recited. "My puddle-jumper got caught in a rift storm, and I crashed north of Cardiff."

"From _when_?"

Jenny grinned. "Good question – roughly four thousand years atil," she said.

"Atil?"

"English doesn't have a real succinct way of describing future events – it all gets wordy and complicated rather quickly. Galactic Standard _does_ have nice and short ways of doing so, even a specific tense for dealing with time loops on personal lines. 'Atil' is basically the forwards-reaching version of 'ago'."

"I take it that's the language your computer was displaying earlier?"

"Exactly. Lovely language, lacks all the confusion of English. Though I have to admit English is growing on me – particularly how the same set of syllables can have multiple meanings. GS is a very exact language."

Tosh was fascinated. "How so?"

"Well, there are over two hundred words alone that can be translated to English as 'green'. 'Sepran' is the shade of green of new-grown clover in springtime. 'Tenar' is the shade of green of high-quality emeralds. And so on," Jenny made a little circle with her hand.

"It must make misunderstandings almost nonexistent," Tosh said, a touch of envy in her voice.

"Nah, misunderstandings still happen. That's the downside to any verbal language."

Tosh conceded she had a point. She quickly checked the progress-bar on the computer. "So, if you're from four thousand years from now, why are you sharing your technology with us? Won't that cause a problem with timelines and your history and such?"

"I don't see a conflict. You – us – Torchwood, I mean. Torchwood's been using technology from alien cultures past, present, and future since the beginning. None of the technology used is mass-produced for general consumption, so it has little effect on what I consider to be history. Besides, time's not so fragile as you think." Jenny pushed off from the doorjamb and walked over to the glass map embedded in the wall.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean those paradox-thingies that the sci-fi writers love to play around with." Jenny lightly traced one of the curving green lines on the map, then turned around. "Okay, you're science-minded. Ever play around with the grandfather paradox?"

"Not personally," Tosh replied with a smile. "But yes, I've thought about it. Before coming to work here, it was the main reason why I'd assumed that time-travel was impossible."

"Time's just another dimension of existence," Jenny said. "The three spatial dimensions you already know, yes?"

"Length, width, and height. Of course."

"Time's just another set of the same dimensional coordinates, only in time's case, it's past, present, and future."

Tosh wrinkled her forehead. "I think I follow you so far, but that doesn't change the fact that you still couldn't travel back in time and kill your own ancestor."

"Exactly!" Jenny chirped. "Time's not that fragile. Usually, it heals itself around displaced events like myself – it's why I'm not too worried about being here."

"Okay, you've lost me." Tosh was starting to get a headache.

"Hmm…" Jenny thought for a moment. "Alright, consider this – say you invent a time machine. You wind up going back ten years before you were born, to the same town in which your mother lived at the time. Say you're a total psychopath and hunt her down in order to ensure you were never born. Time would keep you from being successful in your attempts to kill her. Either your gun would misfire or someone would step in and stop you. _Something_ would happen to keep you from being able to kill her."

Tosh _thought_ she was getting what Jenny was saying, but she wasn't entirely sure. "So you're basically saying that paradoxes are impossible because things are predestined."

Jenny shook her head. "No, that's not what I said. There's no such thing as destiny. I'm just saying that time tends to look after itself. Being successful in the previous example would be as impossible as eliminating length from your spatial existence."

There was no doubt about it, the conversation was definitely giving Tosh a headache. The computer let out a beep, interrupting their conversation. "Can we chat about this later?" she asked.

"Sure," Jenny replied, ducking out of the alcove.

Three hours later, and the team had managed to finally backtrace the girl shown in the CCTV tape from the nightclub. They arrived at her house, decked out in what Tosh explained as 'BSL-3 safety gear', consisting of a thin white coverall, safety glasses, and the same gas masks Jack had handed out at the crash site the night before. Some minor excitement later, and they had the girl – Carys – in custody.

On arriving back at the Hub, Jack told Jenny to see what she could find out before heading off to attend to other duties. Jenny escorted their 'guest' to an empty holding cell. After locking the girl in, Jenny crossed her arms over her chest and observed. A slight itch deep in the middle of her mind told her that, despite appearances to the contrary, there wasn't just one resident in the cell.

Carys was confused, and more than just a little scared. "Are you MI5? Where am I? What do you want?" she asked, on the verge of tears.

Jenny ignored the girl's questions. "You're not from here," she said, speaking to the entity which had taken Carys as a host, using Galactic Standard. "Would you let me know where you _are_ from? What you're doing on this planet?"

Carys doubled over in pain for a couple of seconds before straightening up. Her expression was no longer terrified; it was blank, bordering on angry. "You broke my ship." Oddly, the entity used English.

"Not me, personally," Jenny pointed out, switching back to English. "Come on – what're you doing on Earth?"

"What are _you _doing on Earth?" the thing inside Carys volleyed back. "You belong here no more than I."

"You can't know that."

The thing wearing Carys' face smiled. "But I do. I can hear it. Doubled double-beat."

"True enough," Jenny allowed, knowing the only thing the entity could be describing was her double heartbeat. "However, I maintain I'm doing a sight better than _you_. At least I've not killed anyone yet."

"Let me out of here," the entity tried for pleading, stepping up to the small holes in the plexiglass. She reached up and poked a finger through one of the largest of the holes. "I'll leave. Fix my ship and go."

The itch in Jenny's mind that centered on the entity buzzed strangely, urging her to _trust_, to _help_. Jenny shook her head, partly in negation of the entity's 'promise' and partly to try to clear her head. The buzzing just grew stronger. Jenny took two steps back and it faded some. "I don't believe you," she said. _What is it? I've not felt anything like that before. How could it be in my head?_ "Where are you from?"

The entity reached its other hand up and hung her fingers through the holes in the glass. "I just want the energy," it said, ignoring the question. "The climax. I _live_ for it."

The incessant buzzing in Jenny's mind began to grow stronger once more. She rubbed lightly at her temples. "What is it to you? Food? A drug?"

"They taste so _sweet_," the entity licked its lips. "But you? Would you be even sweeter?"

Jenny backed up again, stopping only when her back hit the row of sealed doors along the wall. "What are you doing to me?" she asked, the pain in her mind rapidly growing worse. She closed her eyes and sank slowly to the floor, curling herself into a ball, her arms wrapped around her head and braced on her knees. "Quit it!"

The entity let out a cry of pain, and the buzzing in Jenny's head faded back to a barely-there itch. Jenny looked up and saw Carys crying. "I'm losing," the girl said, folding into a defeated kneel behind the plexiglass. "Help me," she begged. "Please. Help me."

Though the buzzing had gone, the pain it caused was still very much throbbing through Jenny's head. "I'll do what I can," she said, unwilling to promise anything. Slowly, she uncurled and climbed to her feet. Every small motion made her brain feel like it was trying to escape through her ears and eyes. She managed to get herself out of the cell-lined corridor, then simply crumpled on the stairs.

* * *

Tosh continued working on analyzing the samples collected at the crash site while Jack and Owen pulled up the CCTV from the vaults. The pair watched mostly in silence. _I'm definitely going to have to get her to tone down the Galactic Standard,_ Jack thought as Jenny started her questions, but his intention to do so was rapidly shoved aside as he saw the effect the prisoner was having on his new-hire. "Damn it," Jack muttered. _Mental attack. Classic. Something tells me Jenny's never developed decent shields, though. Wouldn't have hit her half so hard if she had._ He grabbed Owen's keyboard and quickly pulled up the scant medical information UNIT had collected over the years on the Doctor. "Familiarize yourself with that, Owen," he ordered, then all but sprinted towards the vaults.

He found Jenny where she collapsed, only feet from the outer door to the hall of cells in which she'd interviewed Carys. He scooped Jenny up, grateful to hear her whimper in pain at the sudden change in position. "Shush," he muttered, hurrying back to the main level. "Don't talk – not yet."

Once he got her settled in the med-bay, he called Owen over. Owen transferred the file Jack had ordered him to read over to the medical station, then joined Jack. "What happened to her?"

"Telepathic attack," Jack said. "Over with now, but it results in a severe headache. Do what you can for her and make sure there wasn't any lasting damage." Before Owen could ask any further questions, Jack left to go speak with Tosh.

Owen had been working for Torchwood long enough not to discredit Jack's claims out of hand, but he was still somewhat skeptical. "Yes, sir," he muttered sarcastically at Jack's retreating form, then turned to his patient.

Jenny lay half-curled on the table, her arms wrapped protectively around her head. "Looks like a migraine," he said, then dimmed the bay's lights. He put together a syringe, then dug a vial of painkiller out of the stock. "Let's see – you weigh maybe forty kilograms…" He drew a measured dose out of the vial.

"I'm gonna give you something for that headache, alright?" he said, keeping his voice low. Despite the fact that he didn't think much of the girl, he was still a doctor, and any ill-will he bore her would simply have to wait. Jenny didn't respond. Owen pushed the sleeve of her battered blue canvas jacket up, revealing the long-sleeved shirt she wore beneath her rock'n'roll tee. When he attempted to move the sleeve, it wouldn't budge.

Frowning, he sat down the syringe and grabbed a pair of scissors. The cuff of her sleeve wouldn't stretch far enough to allow the blade between it and her skin. Letting out a frustrated huff, Owen shrugged and exchanged the scissors for the syringe – it wouldn't be the first time he'd given an injection through someone's clothes. "What the fuck?" he grumbled when the needle easily slipped though her jacket and tee, but halted completely before it could possibly have hit bone. He tried again on the exposed portion of her forearm. The grey material of the long-sleeved shirt obviously dented around the needle, but wouldn't allow the syringe to pierce through.

"This is gonna be something of a problem, you realize," Owen complained, his voice in that hazy area between thought and speech used when someone is unaware they're speaking aloud. He let out a long breath, then used an alcohol swab to clean the tiny bit of her exposed wrist. "Not ideal, but it'll work," he said, then injected the medication.

He sat at the bay's computer to finish looking through the file Jack'd pulled up while he waited for the drug to take an effect. The more he read, the more his suspicions bubbled within. "No bloody way," he muttered, glancing from a scanned-in image of an X-ray to the girl on his table.

Minimizing the file, he pulled up some of the control programs for the alien-sourced scanners in the bay. In nearly no time at all, a display projected on the white brick wall had chased away all doubt. The image displayed was two-part. On the right was a scan showing Jenny's ribcage – consisting of two extra ribs – wrapped around _two _hearts. On the left, a _triple_-helix of DNA – consisting of _three_ base-pairs of proteins – ensured the image on the right wasn't just a defect in a human subject.

"You okay?" Jack's voice made Owen jump a little.

Owen glared up at his boss. Jack was leaning on the railing, looking like he always did – unflustered. "You knew."

"Of course I knew. Surprised you didn't pick up on her not exactly being local earlier. She's not been subtle about it."

"Anything in particular you know about her that I ought to know, too?"

"Allergic to aspirin," Jack replied. "Most other drugs either won't affect her at all or will need at least a double-dose to what you'd give a human her same size. Other than that, though, all we know about her people is in that file."

Owen closed his eyes and counted to ten mentally. As he hit 'eight', Ianto's voice cut in with, "I've got Chinese."

Jack left to go indulge in dinner. Owen returned to his patient. While he'd been perusing the file, she'd managed to uncurl slightly. He took that to mean the painkiller he'd given her was working, despite what Jack had claimed. He stepped over to her. "Better?"

Jenny cracked an eye open. "No," she replied. "Not particularly."

"Anything specific I can give you?"

She shook her head, then winced as the pain resurged. "No." She closed her eyes again, then tensed and rolled herself onto her back. A whimper escaped, despite her best intentions. "Go eat, Dr. Harper. I'll be fine in an hour or two."

Owen lingered and watched as her breathing began to take on a strictly measured quality, her dual heartbeat slowed dramatically, and the tension gradually faded from her face. He looked at the readout still displayed on the bricks. Her hearts were down to beating only once each every five seconds or so. The machine couldn't detect _any_ respiration. Even as he watched, the heartbeats slowed again.

He hit a couple of controls, and the scanner switched to an EEG readout. The chaos of lines it displayed were so very far beyond what he was used to seeing that he felt completely out of his depth. He sighed. "One thing's for sure – you're gonna gimme some decent baselines as soon as we get done with that gas-creature possessing the girl downstairs."

Owen left Jenny and headed up to grab some lunch before the others ate it all.

* * *

Jenny slowly swam back to consciousness. She could hear voices, which made the process go slightly faster than it would have otherwise.

"…results of the bioscan. Yeah, but it's just a mess, like there's no definitive readings, because everything in her body keeps changing, nothing stays constant," Owen's voice was the loudest. "As soon as you think you've got something clear, the metabolic rate, the blood pressure, whatever – it all goes wild again."

_He can't be talking about me._ Jenny wasn't too clear on much, not yet, but on that point she was certain.

"Because she's fighting the alien for control of her own body," Jack's voice was only slightly lower than Owen's.

"Yeah," Owen agreed, and Jenny realized they were talking about the thing downstairs. "So, anyway, I decided to do a comparative diagnostic. Recreate the circumstances, accelerate the process a little, see what's gonna happen to Carys."

Bit by bit, Jenny's brain came back online. She cracked an eye open and let out a small sigh of relief when the light didn't feel like it was trying to stab her brain. Rolling her head to the side, she found the rest of the team clustered around a small, wheeled workbench on the other side of the medical bay.

Owen stepped slightly to the side and revealed a white lab rat in a clear box on the table's surface. "I infected the rat with a combination of the vorax and suranium gas traces we found at the crash site and the nightclub."

"Looks fine so far," Tosh commented. Jenny couldn't see her from where she lay, but since it came from the other side of Jack's distinctive broad-shouldered back, it didn't matter.

"Once the gasses start to flow 'round the body, the party really starts," Owen sounded a little too enthusiastic for Jenny's peace of mind. "The heart rate triples, the brain swells and presses against the skull. The lungs begin to shrink, making it impossible to breathe. The pressure on all the internal organs keeps increasing until –"

The rat inside the clear box suddenly exploded. Jenny grimaced. "That's gross," she said, causing three pairs of concerned eyes to land on her.

"Hey," Jack said, stepping over. "You doing alright now?"

Jenny nodded and slowly sat up. "Better than him, at any rate," she nodded to the ex-rat. "I caught most of the explanation. Is there any way to get the gasses out of the girl?" Jack steadied her as she climbed off the table.

Owen shook his head. "Not that I've found. Only way would be if the creature left on its own, but I don't think that'll happen – it's been ranting down in its cell for the last two hours. To be honest, she sounds like the junkies that I used to see come into A&E, hoping for a fix." He slid the wheeled table and its grisly contents up against the wall, then crossed the short distance. "Though I don't see any way of saving the girl, there is something useful I _can_ do."

"And what's that?" Jenny asked, surreptitiously testing the strength of her legs before letting go of Jack's arm.

"Getting together a file on _you_, so that if you wind up needing my services again, I won't be quite so in the dark," Owen explained. "I did some basic tests while you were… sleeping," the pause before the word wasn't long, but it was noticeable.

"Healing trance," Jenny corrected.

"See?" Owen managed to control the urge to snark, but only barely. "Shit like that would be useful to know."

Jenny sighed and realized that there was no way to get out of it. A glance at Jack indicated if she disagreed, he would have no trouble making it an order. "Not gonna be a lab rat," she warned the doctor.

Owen twitched an eyebrow at her. "Got actual rats if I need them. In your case, I simply need to know what I'll be dealing with, should you wind up shot or stabbed or electrocuted or whatever else injuries you'll land yourself with working _here_."

"Fair enough," Jenny said, giving in. _I can see his point. Don't like it much, but these people are still my best bet to return to my own time._

Over the course of the next six hours, Jenny patiently submitted to Dr. Harper's questions, examinations, and scans. She let him know all she'd learned during her first four years of existence, but warned him that she didn't know all there was to know.

As the exam drew to a close, Ianto called them over to Tosh's workstation. The CCTV of Carys in her cell was displayed. The bioscanner results were displayed on a second monitor. Owen looked at the readouts. "Any moment now," he said, then switched his attention to the girl.

Two minutes later, the cell which had contained Carys was suddenly painted from within in bright red.

"I am _not_ cleaning that up," Ianto said as the CCTV revealed a cloud of pink gas pouring through the holes in the plexiglass wall of the cell. The gas didn't get very far before solidifying and raining down into a small pile on the floor.

"That's that, then," Jack said. "Could've been worse."

"She just exploded!" Tosh chastised. "How could it get worse than _that_?"

"She could've exploded in front of witnesses," Owen said. "That gas could've gotten into someone else. Who knows how many people it could've killed?"

"Go on home," Jack said, reaching up and switching off the monitor. "Take tomorrow, too. It's been a long couple of days. I'll deal with the cleanup."

* * *

**A/N2:** So, once I figured out that Owen wouldn't wind up 'seduced' thanks to his needing to understand an entirely new biology, this chapter came together faster than I thought it would. Also, he and Jenny aren't quite done bickering, but I couldn't see him adding to the pain of one of his patients, despite his personal feelings towards them.

Kindly let me know what y'all think. Thanks in advance.


	5. Dreams and Plans

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'Torchwood'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** A bit of space before the next couple of episodes. Hope y'all like reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

* * *

**Synchronicity**

_Chapter Five: Dreams and Plans_

_24 December, 1869  
17:55_

A heartbreakingly familiar noise cut through the rowdy patrons of Madame Rosario's and lanced its way into Jack's brain. "No way," he breathed, then summarily dumped a scantily-for-Victorian-times-clad redhead on the floor as he sprang to his feet. He ignored her vehement protests – to say nothing of her inventive slandering of his mother – and sprinted for the door, shoving anyone in his way aside as he ran.

Though he quickly lost the auditory clues, Jack didn't give up looking. He began a systematic sweep of every street and alleyway in the direction he'd last heard the distinctive sound he'd been wishing and hoping to hear for the last six months. After nearly four hours, Jack finally skidded to a halt in front of something he had honestly begun to believe he'd never see again – an anachronistic 1950s style blue police box. "Finally!" he crowed, digging in his pocket for the key.

He let himself in and caressed one of the coral support struts. "Hello, girl. Did you miss me?"

An irritating klaxon noise started up, badly startling him. "Hey!" he shouted over the noise. "Cut it out!"

The noise ceased mid-whoop. A hologram flickered into existence – a narrow-faced brunette woman wearing clothing that wouldn't have been out of place at Madame Rosario's – standing on the ramp between the TARDIS control consol and the doors. "My Soldier," the hologram said, smiling brightly at him.

Of all the occupations Jack had donned, 'soldier' was the one he had the least issues with, so he didn't much mind the TARDIS using it as a name. "TARDIS," Jack grinned at her. "Like the look," he gestured to her holographic representation. "But I'm a little confused – you've never talked to me like this before. Used to just be singing in the back of my head."

"Time is of the essence, my Soldier," the TARDIS replied. "You cannot be caught here. My Thief and his Wolf do not yet know who you are."

Disappointment crashed through Jack, making his chest feel like it had been caught in a vice. "Can't I just hide? You're big enough to be able to keep me from meeting up with them…"

The hologram shook her head. "I am sorry, my Soldier, but I wouldn't be able to mask your presence from my Thief for very long. Not long enough to keep you safely tucked away from him and his Wolf… To say nothing of once you yourself join us."

Considering he easily recalled his fascination with the rooms within the TARDIS which hadn't granted him access the first time through, Jack had no trouble whatsoever knowing that she had a very valid point – if he sensed even a _hint_ of himself aboard the ship, he wouldn't have rested until he found out why. _And since I don't remember it, I won't be getting a lift out of here._ Jack sighed heavily. "But I'm _stuck here_. In _Cardiff_, of all places! In _eighteen-fuckin'-sixty-nine_! Do you have any idea how _repressed_ these people are?" It was a measure of how desperate he felt that had him swearing. He usually kept the 'dirtier' words in reserve, thinking them too unimaginative for a man of his skill. "Can't you just take me back to the fifty-first century, then come back?"

"I can't," she said, sounding honestly distressed. The hologram drifted down to stand just in front of him. She raised a hand and rested it against his skin, making it prickle slightly at the energy. "Oh, my Soldier," she sadly whispered. "I truly am sorry. It's going to be a very long time before we manage to meet up with you again."

"How long're you talking about here? Months? Years?" The TARDIS just smiled sadly at him. He ran a hand through his hair. "What am I supposed to do in the meantime?" he grumbled, getting angrier by the minute. "It's not like I can use this," he held up his Vortex Manipulator wrist-strap, "to leave. It shorted out and now won't even _teleport_."

"I can't tell you much, my Soldier," she said, lightly tracing his cheek with her hand. "But I can tell you that you are exactly when and where you are supposed to be."

Jack jerked away from her. "What's that even _mean_?" he shouted. "I don't belong here!"

"You worked as a Time Agent," the TARDIS calmly stated. "You understand that there are some things which cannot be changed."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know – mostly, time can be rewritten, but there are things called fixed points that _can't_ be changed. Just trying to change things usually winds up causing them to happen anyway. What's that got to do with _me_?"

"You being here, my Soldier, is something that cannot be changed. To do so would make the whole of human causality to collapse," she explained. "I wish it were different."

The wistfulness in her last statement caused Jack to peer closely at the projection before him. It also managed to dispel the anger boiling under his skin. "_You_ wish you could change a fixed point?"

She nodded. "If only to save you, my Soldier. You've dark days ahead. Please don't lose hope, though. We _will_ come back." The projection suddenly stilled. "You must leave now," she said, a sense of urgency coming through loud and clear. "My Thief and his Wolf will return in less than one minute."

Jack considered simply refusing to leave, to hell with the timelines, but a solid wall of energy wrapped around him like a vertical invisible mattress and gently pushed him out and into the snow. He faded back into the shadows of the alley in time to see Rose, the Doctor, and an older man in current-era clothing come around the corner. _Lookin' good, Rosie. Love the dress,_ he couldn't help but think. He lingered long enough to watch them make their goodbyes to the older man, but the sound of the TARDIS dematerializing cut through him like a knife. Unable to watch, he turned away and stalked towards the nearest bar, intending to get blind-drunk.

He made it as far as the main cross-street, where he literally ran into someone. They both landed in a heap in the snow. Laughter like bells underscored Jack disentangling himself and climbing to his feet. Once he was upright, he realized he'd plowed into a woman. "Sorry," he said, helping her up. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

The woman, still laughing like a little kid, had wound up having her shawl land over her head. She resettled it, revealing a stunningly beautiful oval face, raven hair with a widow's peak, and blue eyes sparkling with mirth. "Think nothing of it. I wasn't watching where I was going, either." She dusted some of the snow off of herself. "Miss Matilda Clarke, at your service." Her accent had traces of Welsh, but was mostly upper-class London.

Jack smiled at her – a little licentiously, if he were completely honest with himself. "Jack Harkness," he introduced himself, taking her hand and kissing the back of her glove. "A _pleasure_ to meet you."

A knowing glint flashed through her eyes at the slight stress he gave the word. "Likewise, Mr. Harkness. Might I inquire what has you rushing so on Christmas Eve?"

"Only if I'm allowed to do so as well."

"A fair exchange," she replied. "I quite like that. Too many men seem to think it their due to ask, but never answer."

"Never could stand that attitude myself," Jack admitted, still laying on the charm.

"In that case – I'd heard that there were several of my friends who had decided to throw a midnight party in honor of the holiday. I'm running rather late. And yourself?"

"A good friend of mine just left town. I was going to have a drink," Jack stuck with the easiest explanation.

Matilda took a step back and looked him over from his boots to the tips of his hair. "More than one drink, I would imagine," she said, stepping closer to him. "This friend must be the close sort, to have you mourning their departure."

"I'm not mourning," Jack protested, though the effort behind it was feeble indeed.

"Are you not?" she countered, one eyebrow arched higher than the other. She pulled him around by the arm, then tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. "Come along, Mr. Harkness – you want a distraction, and I've a better one than alcohol."

_Just what have I gotten myself into here?_ Jack wondered as the woman pulled him along beside her. "You don't approve of alcohol, I take it?"

"It has its uses, I suppose," Matilda allowed, albeit grudgingly, "but on the whole, it simply makes men the worst they can be, all while making them _think_ they've become the best they can be."

Jack let out a startled laugh. "That, Miss Clarke, is the most accurate description of drunkenness I think I have ever heard." A tiny voice at the back of his mind chimed up with, _I think you might've met your match._

* * *

_25 October, 2006  
01:13_

Jack's eyes snapped open. It took a moment for his disorientation to fade; he'd been expecting to see dawn-splashed snow, the remains of a bonfire, and clusters of worn-out Victorian partiers, and had instead been greeted with the grimy cement walls of his bunker below his office. He stretched and pulled his trousers on, then climbed up to his office. _Not gonna sleep any longer tonight_, he thought, plopping heavily onto his chair. Almost without his permission, his hands retrieved the battered yellow box in which he kept the few photos he couldn't bear to throw away – despite the numerous promises made to himself during his darker moments.

He flipped quickly through them, locating the oldest of the bunch, secured to a small rectangle of scalloped-edged fiberboard nearly as old as the photo. "Haven't dreamt of you in years, Tilly," he whispered to the woman standing at his side in the picture. "Wonder what brought it on?" He traced her face, a melancholic smile tugging on his own. _Used to think you were what the TARDIS meant when she said I was when and where I was supposed to be. I don't think so now, not after everything that's happened since I lost you. _He sighed and felt the urge to pour himself a rare helping of Scotch, but didn't bother – not with Tilly on his mind. _You wouldn't approve, sweetheart, and I know it. Looking back at us… I can't believe you put up with me like you did. And for as long as you did, too. I also can't believe how blind we both were. How is it that neither of us noticed that I didn't age? But still, we were good together, weren't we?_

He shuffled through the photos again, finding one that was only slightly less old than the one he held. The second photo was likewise mounted on a similar scrap of fiberboard, and depicted a slightly-older version of the same woman, Jack standing beside her, a bright grin on his face in defiance of the custom of the time demanding photographs and portraits be solemn events. In front of him and his wife stood a twelve year old Dahlia and a ten year old Jonah, both named for Tilly's parents – and both looking more like their grandmothers than either of their parents, with blonde hair instead of brown. Jack rarely tortured himself with this particular photograph, taken a scant two years before a cholera outbreak claimed both Tilly and Dahlia. Jonah had managed to survive, but was taken down in 1892 in a fight over a girl's honor. _Less than a month later, I would have followed, were it not for the fact that death doesn't like me. I remember wondering what the point was after I buried Jonah. Couldn't get you all out of my head, not with your ghosts lurking around every corner, so I ran. Got off the ship at Ellis Island, only to wind up smack in the middle of what should've been a fatal case of wrong place, wrong time. After waking up from that, I don't think I was sober again until… Yeah, until the Sadistic Wonder Twins found me. That was what? 1899?_

Frustrated with himself, Jack roughly gathered the photos and stashed them back in the box. The walls felt like they were closing in on him, so he finished getting dressed, shrugged into his coat, then made his way out into the chilly Cardiff night. He wandered for hours, letting his feet take him where they willed. It didn't settle him, so he found his way to his favorite rooftop. Standing mere millimeters from the edge, staring down at a city he'd claimed as _his_, he wondered once more just how long he would be forced to wait for answers.

* * *

Jenny had spent her day off tending to mundane household chores, interrupted only by lunch with Andy. After all her chores were tended to, she'd actually slept for a few hours, then busied herself by working out what she would need in order to manufacture a Second Skin using only the technology readily available. It was a particularly engaging mental exercise, and by the time she'd drawn up lists and processes to give to Toshiko, she was beginning to feel a bit cooped-up.

Deciding to work off the physical restlessness, she exchanged jeans for running shorts, her canvas coat for a light windbreaker – tucking her phone and MPEA in the zippered pockets – before heading out for a run. She ran the same route every time – a spiral pattern that circled out from her flat all the way to the outermost edges of the city, then as close to a straight line back as she could manage.

Roughly halfway through her route, she spotted an outline against the night sky.

A familiar outline.

Standing on a roof.

Curious, she changed course and sprinted towards the building. It took about twenty minutes to reach it, and once she got there, it was another ten before she found an unlocked back door. Another five minutes had her exiting the lift on the topmost floor. A quick jog up a flight of stairs led her to the roof.

"Morning," Jack's voice carried over to her on the early-morning wind.

She ambled over to him. "Morning," she replied, taking a seat with her legs dangling over the edge. "Pretty view."

"Can be," Jack allowed. "You don't sleep much, do you?"

Jenny shrugged. "Never have. You?"

"Couldn't," he stated, still staring out over the lights of the city. He took a deep breath and mentally shoved aside all the emotional baggage his latest dream/memory had called up as he exhaled. "Been meaning to ask – the thing with that gas creature…"

"What about it?"

"How come you didn't shield against it?"

"Huh?" Jenny blinked up at him. "What do you mean?"

Jack frowned. _Could it be she doesn't know?_ Carefully, he followed Jenny's example and sat down – _Now's not the time to slip and fall._ "The entity, it attacked you psychically. You ought to be able to shield against that sort of attack."

Jenny shrugged, "I honestly don't know what you're talking about, Jack."

"Didn't the Doctor teach you anything?"

"He was only around me for maybe fourteen hours," Jenny said. "But he did teach me that there's always an alternative to killing, even if my life since then hasn't exactly always supported that."

"Must not have had the time, then," Jack said, more to himself than to Jenny. _There isn't going to be any other way. You can't leave her wide-open like she is, it's too dangerous._ Jack closed his eyes and reached inside his own mind, etching a small 'window' into his own mental defenses. He was definitely out of practice – the last time he'd even _attempted_ what he was about to do, he'd still been a loyal minion of the Time Agency.

Jenny was entranced by the view of a nighttime Cardiff from so high up. _You can't see the graffiti, the trash. It's beautiful from here. I can see why he likes it._ She felt Jack lay a gentle hand on her shoulder, then heard him say, "It is pretty, but that's not why I come up here."

Tearing her eyes away from the sparkling lights, she looked at Jack. "Why, then?" she asked.

"It reminds me of my responsibilities," Jack said. Or at least, Jenny heard him say it. His mouth hadn't moved, though, and a vertical line of concentration was centered between his eyebrows.

"How…" she began to ask, but his other hand came up and covered her mouth.

"No, not aloud," he said, still not moving his mouth. "Concentrate – it's not your ears that are hearing me. It might be easier if you close your eyes." Jenny closed her eyes and focused. _:Good, just like that,:_ echoed in her mind. Though it sounded much like Jack's actual voice, there were layers to it that reverberated with the exact meaning he intended. _:If you can hear me clearly, nod your head.:_ She followed his instruction. _:Good. Now say something back. Just think it, like you would if you were going to say it with your voice, but just interrupt the signal before it gets to your vocal chords.:_

_:What should I say?:_ was the only thing she could think of.

Jack chuckled aloud. _:That'll do.:_

_:Does this mean you can read minds?:_

_:No. Only what you project. I never was good enough to scan surface thoughts. Took a lot of work to be able to project and receive projections.:_ An image of herself speaking to the thing inside Carys flooded her mind. _:This,:_ Jack explained, _:is what you need to learn how to shield against.:_

Jenny winced in remembered agony. "I can't argue with that," she said, her mind feeling slightly like used gelatin from the short mental conversation.

Jack, sensing she was rapidly reaching the limit of her current telepathic endurance, gratefully closed the mental 'window' and reset his shields. "I can teach you the basics – even my own teachers said I had a knack for defense. It's not going to be particularly pleasant, though."

"What that thing did wasn't fun, either. And if it could lay me out like that, I don't want to know what else an attack like that can do," Jenny replied pragmatically. "Why have I not come across this sort of thing before?"

Jack shrugged. "Honestly couldn't say. You might've just been lucky. Or it could be that the talent took a while to develop."

"And there's really no way to determine which is the case." Jenny scooted back from the edge of the roof in order to pull her legs up and rest her chin on her knees. "Alright, so how do I keep that sort of thing from happening again?"

A gust of wind, colder than the others had been, snaked down Jack's coat collar. "How about we go back to the Hub? I don't know about you, but I'm half-frozen." He climbed to his feet, then pulled Jenny to hers.

"It's not that cold out," she groused, staring out over the city. "Can't we stay a few more minutes?" She turned her face to Jack and begged, "Please?"

_Dahlia turned her pink-cheeked face up to him. "It won't be dark for _ages_, Daddy. Can't we stay just a little longer, please?" the cold giving her words physical form as they misted out in fog. "Pretty please?"_

Jack closed his eyes and carefully pushed the memory back into its box. He blamed his dream of earlier for its escape. "No," he said. "I realize you don't feel the cold like me, but it's coming up on," he checked his watch, "four in the morning. Ianto will be in at seven. Tosh and Owen by eight. I want you at least started on the shields before they show up."

"You don't want them to know?" Jenny asked, falling into step beside the captain as he headed for the door. "Why not?"

"It would lead to questions," Jack explained. "Questions I don't particularly want to answer."

Jenny bobbed her head in a kind of sideways nod. "'Who are you?', 'Where are you from?', things like that. Why don't you want them to know?"

Jack pulled open the roof-access door and motioned for Jenny to precede him. "Because they wouldn't believe most of my answers, not without proof, and I don't exactly have the greatest track record when it comes to people finding out about me." Though it hadn't always been the case, over the years since his first death, Jack had grown to hate the feel of being tied up. It wasn't something to anticipate, not any longer. It was something to avoid at all costs.

The newest addition to the T3 team pushed open the door to the uppermost floor of the building they were in, took three steps, and pressed the call button for the lift. It immediately dinged and the doors slid open. Jack followed her in and hit the button for the main lobby. "They seemed to take learning about me in stride," she commented as the lift descended through the levels.

Jack shrugged. "It's part of their job."

"So you're going to trust them with _me_, but you can't trust them with _you_?"

Jack glared at her. "Drop it, Jenny."

"Fine," she huffed. "Just… You do realize they're gonna find out eventually, right?"

"I said to drop it," he ordered. _She's right, though. Chances are, they're gonna learn about your problem with death sooner or later. _The lift dinged its way to a stop, the doors opening to reveal the lobby.

"Evening, Captain," the night watchman at the desk greeted him.

"Bryce," Jack nodded at him. "Might want to double-check your CCTV coverage," he jerked a thumb over his shoulder as Jenny emerged from the lift. "She followed me."

"I'll make sure it's done by the end of the week, Captain," the guard said. "Need me to phone the police?"

Jack shook his head, "Nah. I'll deal with her." He crossed the lobby and lingered near the door long enough for Bryce to buzz him out. "Night, Bryce – don't work too hard."

"Never do, Captain," Bryce called after him, watching until he and the blonde girl had disappeared from sight.

Half an hour later found Jenny sitting across from Jack in the conference room, being walked through a lesson on how to close her mind to telepathic influence. "…as far as I've found, the best sort of image to use is a mirror, facing outwards," Jack explained. Most of Jenny's focus dwelt on following his instructions, asking questions when they came to her, but a small segment of her mind was dwelling on what he'd said.

'…_I don't exactly have the greatest track record when it comes to people finding out about me.' I wonder what he meant? _Her brain twitched a little, and she fought the urge to smack herself in the forehead. _Oh, you can be such an idiot at times, Jenny. Why were you so careful about who you approached after coming here? Why'd you insert yourself in the records like you did? Jack might scan as human, but he can't _die_. Any scientist at all would – and possibly _has_ – given just about anything to experiment on him. He's probably more paranoid about getting caught out than you are._ The beginnings of an idea began to flicker, but she could tell it wasn't quite ready to come forth. Leaving it to simmer, she returned to working on putting up a mental defense.

At five minutes to seven, Jack called a halt. "How about you head on home and get changed. Take the lift," he motioned to a cement square in the middle of the Hub, just visible through the conference room's windows. "Rift permitting, we'll get you checked out on the computers today."

Jenny nodded. "Back soon," she said, bouncing to her feet. "Sir!" she paused at the door to toss Jack a snappy little salute.

Jack rolled his eyes at the girl's antics, then ambled into his office. He shuffled through the paperwork he'd not felt like tackling the day before. _Nothing urgent_, he thought, returning them their stack on the corner of his desk. The alarm for the cogwheel door sounded, heralding Ianto's arrival. _And the ten-minute countdown begins,_ Jack smirked at the kid's predictability, then grabbed a notepad and a pen.

Across the top, he wrote _Jenny's Assessment_, then underlined it. Skipping a line, he then wrote a list of things he wanted her at a decent level prior to allowing her out in the field, including _firearms_, _hand-to-hand_, _reports_, and so forth. He finished up the list just as Ianto appeared in the doorway, holding a mug of coffee.

"Good morning, sir," he said, walking over to Jack.

Jack took his coffee, downing three gulps without bothering to let it cool. "Morning, Ianto. You know, one of these days, you're gonna hafta show me what you do to the coffee to make it taste so good." He let his eyes drift over Ianto – who was wearing his typical suit. Today's edition was a deep blue, with matching waistcoat, overtop an off-white shirt. The tie was the same shade of blue, but had a subtle crosshatch pattern woven into it.

"Knowing how to properly work the machine helps, sir," Ianto dryly replied.

Jack shrugged, still unapologetic about having destroyed the espresso machine three times in the past year. "Probably," he agreed, taking another scalding sip of his breakfast. He handed Ianto the pad of paper he'd been writing on. "Anything else you can think of that might need doing?"

"Actually attempting some form of entrance testing, sir? Should I be worried?"

Jack chuckled. "Nah. Just figured it'd be useful. Lucked out with finding Tosh and Owen. Figure if we manage to get Torchwood back up and running properly, might be useful to have some standards. God knows London didn't."

Ianto winced at the reminder of Hartman's ruthless running of T1. "If you say so, sir," he said.

Jack kicked his feet up on his desk. "Well, you're the organized sort. Figure out a reasonable set from that list we can go over today, presuming the rift stays quiet."

"Certainly, sir," Ianto tucked the notepad under his elbow. "A reminder, sir, you have a conference call with UNIT at eight sharp."

Jack groaned. "Can't they leave us be?"

"Will you be needing anything else, sir?" Ianto asked.

_I'd swear he does this on purpose_, Jack thought, his brain taking Ianto's innocent question and running down a few filthy alleyways with it. He grinned and opened his mouth, but Ianto cut him off by saying, "Anything _work-related_, sir?"

Chuckling again, Jack just shook his head and made a shooing motion.

* * *

By eleven o'clock, Tosh had gotten Jenny checked out on how to use the Hub's computer system – without needing to resort to her MPEA. The pair were going over the details Jenny had thought of concerning her Second Skin when Tosh asked, "So… You're an alien?"

"Thought that was obvious yesterday."

"Sorry, I'm just having a little difficulty seeing you as anything other than human," Tosh replied, sounding a little defensive.

"What's so difficult about it?" Jenny asked, straddling an empty office chair and resting her chin on its back.

"It's just the aliens we've come across, at least the ones since I've been working here, have all been obviously alien. Like the weevils in the vaults. I never really thought aliens could look like everyday people." Tosh pushed back a little from her desk and spun her chair to face Jenny.

Jenny shrugged. "That's something you're gonna need to work on, Tosh. For the most part, aliens look more-or-less like people, period. Some might have scales and gills, some might have spines and horns, some might have blue skin and purple eyes, but most of the intelligent races out there are roughly people-shaped."

"I wonder why that is," Tosh mused.

"No clue," Jenny replied. "So… Do you think you can do it?"

Tosh blinked at the girl. "Huh? Oh, the Second Skin. Well, I can definitely follow the formula you gave for the material itself, but we don't quite have the nanotechnology available to recreate the auto-fit features you've described."

Owen ambled over, reading through a printout of the file he'd compiled for Jenny and munching on an apple. "Hey, new girl – got a question for you."

"Hey, old guy – got an answer for you," Jenny snarked.

Owen ignored her tone, more intent on getting his answer than on sparring with the newbie. "You never answered me before – how old are you?"

"Depends on how you count it," Jenny said.

"It's a simple question," Owen pressed.

"Sorry, but it's not a simple answer," Jenny sighed. "One way of counting it, I'm just shy of eleven years old. Another way of counting would make me somewhere between twenty-five and thirty. Yet another way of counting would make giving a straight answer completely irrelevant, because – strictly speaking – I've not even been created yet."

Rather than complain about getting a headache, Owen grabbed the last empty chair and perched on it. "Don't bother with the last one. I get it – you're from the future. Tosh told me. But explain what you mean about the other two."

Sighing, Jenny explained how, roughly ten years earlier, but oh-so-far in the future, an advanced version of cloning had resulted in her existence. "The machine was programmed to grow us to a preset age of seventeen plus-or-minus a couple of years, so if you add ten to that, thus my second answer."

"If that was ten years ago, how come you still look like a teenager?" Tosh asked the question, a faint hint of envy underscoring her voice.

"Don't know," Jenny replied. "I did some research, both back home and since I wound up here, and I think it's because of who my progenerator is. Man called himself 'the Doctor'. All I could find out about his people – my people – was that they'd died out a long, long time ago. Once I got here, I found UNIT had a file on him, but you've already gone through it. All I know is what you've already got." She let out a sigh. "So, since it's complicated, can we stick with what I put on my records? Twenty-two is a nice number, don't you think?"

The sound of Jack shouting up in his office, only slightly muffled by the walls between them forestalled any replies. "…Frobisher! We do _not _answer to UNIT! If it bothers you that much, call the Queen!"

"Sounds like Jack's going to need to replace his phone again," Tosh said. A moment later, she was proven right as the beige office phone hit a support between two windowpanes and shattered.

"Again?" Jenny asked, sensing gossip in the air. "How many times does that make?"

"At least three, and that's just in the past two months," Tosh replied.

"Home Office is trying to pull strings to get Torchwood folded in under UNIT," Owen explained. "They won't manage it – not if Jack has his way – but they keep trying."

Jenny nodded, a knowing little smile on her face. "Wouldn't have thought it possible, Dr. Harper, but you're right."

"Wait, what?" Owen blinked at her. "What do you know that we don't?"

Jenny looked from Tosh to Owen and back. "Huh. That's interesting. Didn't either of you two ever read the Torchwood founding charter?"

"Never saw any reason to," Tosh admitted even as Owen just shook his head.

"The Torchwood Institute was founded in 1879 by Queen Victoria herself. Torchwood answers _only to_ the Crown," Jenny explained. "Not Parliament, not the Home Office, not the UN. _Just_ to whoever happens to be the reigning monarch of Great Britain. And it'd take the Crown herself to change things."

"How do _you_ know this?" Tosh asked, curious.

Jenny held up her MPEA. "I did some digging."

Tosh and Owen exchanged a glance. "Pull up Jack on that thing," they said simultaneously.

"Why?" Jenny asked. "You two have worked for him for years. I'd've thought you'd both know him pretty well by now."

They exchanged another look. Tosh shrugged. "Not really. I've tried to do my own digging, but the only hit I ever get on 'Captain Jack Harkness' dates from World War Two – an RAF volunteer who simply disappeared."

Owen picked up where Tosh left off, "We really don't know anything. He simply doesn't exist. Except for the fact that he's our boss."

Jenny chewed on the inside of her lip. Her idea – now fully cooked and ready – leapt forwards and exploded across the inside of her mind. _Jack doesn't want them to know – doesn't trust them to know. However, he's gotta trust _someone_. Better his own team than a bunch of strangers. Sure, he's probably gonna be angry I told them. But… I'm not really _telling_ them anything, now am I?_ Decision made, she said, "Well, since he's not in the computers, he must've deleted himself from the records, right?" She waited for them to nod, then added, "So instead of searching online – since you've already tried that and gotten nowhere – have either of you tried hardcopy?" She giggled at their expressions. "Come on, really? Never looked through public records? Dug into old newspapers? Checked the archives here?"

"We're getting too used to computers doing all the work, Tosh," Owen grumbled, looking at the tech expert. "I don't know about you, but I'm gonna go see what I can find downstairs. Don't much care for the newbie knowing more about where I work than I do."

"I'll come with you," Tosh volunteered. "How about you?" she asked Jenny.

"I'm good," Jenny replied.

"You might've had a point, new girl, but I still don't like you," Owen said, tugging her ponytail as he walked past her.

"Yeah, well, the feeling's mutual, Dr. Gormless." Jenny grinned to herself as they headed off to the archives. _If Ianto's grumbling about the state of the archives is accurate, I would think it's going to take them about a week to locate any information at all. Longer, if it's buried like I assume he would have done._ The only digital copies of the records pertaining to Jack were all stored in a partition on his office computer, but having had more than a hundred years of on-again, off-again employment by Torchwood would have left a paper trail that not even the most obsessive of individuals would have been able to completely destroy. Jenny smirked to herself. _Someday, I'm sure you'll thank me for this._

* * *

**A/N2:** And so ends another chapter. I enjoyed it, even if no one else does.


	6. Playing Possum

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'Torchwood'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** Because I firmly believe that Jenny would know better than to press buttons on unknown alien technology (no matter how prettily they twinkle at her), the plot of 'Ghost Machine' is barely alluded to within this chapter. From there, I skip straight on to the much meatier 'Cyberwoman'. I hope this meets with everyone's approval.

* * *

**Synchronicity**

_Chapter Six: Playing Possum_

_27 October, 2006  
13:19_

"…how'd you wind up _stalking_ Cap'n Jack into hiring you? You never said," Jenny was chattering in Ianto's ear as she walked next to him.

"Sorry?" he tore his attention from his thoughts and to the energetic little blonde who'd unilaterally decided he needed company on the lunch-run.

Jenny leveled a concerned smile on him. "You weren't listening, were you?"

"Not particularly," Ianto confirmed. _She never shuts up. Like she doesn't know what 'silence' means. It's more than a little distracting._

The blonde rolled her eyes and sighed melodramatically. "Fine, you don't wanna listen to _me_ – how about _you_ talk?"

"About what?" he asked, halting his steps in order to wait for a traffic light. _Dr. Tanizaki should arrive – barring any delays with his flights – in a little over a week. Friday, the third. Plane lands at three in the afternoon. Need to confirm the reservation for his room by the end of the day tomorrow and forward the confirmation number to him._

"Anything. Your favorite television show, the last book you read, why you're the only one who _always _wears a suit to work – despite the various and sundry types of slime, dust, dirt, goo, and whatnot that're gonna wind up ground into it by the end of the day. _Something_."

The light changed and Ianto stepped into the crosswalk, his petite blonde shadow a half-step behind him. "Why does any of that matter?" Ianto asked, slightly confused as to why the girl was attempting conversation.

She let out an explosive sigh. "Oh, I dunno… Maybe because I'd like to get to know the people I'm gonna be working with? I know Tosh has a weakness for bad sci-fi – both films and novels. Owen likes spy-stories, but tends to spend most of his time off drinking. The Captain seems to think hunting weevils is a valid pastime. Myself, I like reading history books – biographies, in particular, though I've also got a weakness for Shakespeare. You? All I know about _you_ is that you do all the grunt-work around the Hub and never complain, and the rest of them seem to think there's something special about your coffee."

Finally arriving at the Italian place that had the city's best lasagna, Ianto paused a couple of feet from the door and took a long look at Torchwood Three's newest member. _What is she playing at? Does she have some sort of crush on me?_ The more he thought about it, the more he thought that was the case. Coming to a decision, he let out his own sigh. "Jenny," he said, a little haltingly. "Look – you're a sweet kid. Pretty and smart and," he thought back to the sparring session he'd witnessed the day before between her and Jack, "more than a bit frightening at times. But. I'm flattered, certainly. But you're not my type. Perhaps you ought to find someone closer to your own age."

Jenny's smile faded as she blinked at him, somewhat blankly. "Huh?"

_Despite the fact that she can discuss advanced scientific and mathematic principles with Tosh at a level where it seems as though they've switched to speaking a foreign language, she can be somewhat thick, can't she?_ Ianto frowned.

A small light dawned behind the girl's blue eyes. "Oh!" She laughed. "Ianto – no! Not that you're not, you know, fit and all, but I'm not asking because I _like_ you!" Jenny could barely get the words out in between giggles. She took a couple of deep breaths and made a visible effort to calm herself.

Ianto, however, was suffering a mild – yet horribly uncomfortable – flashback to when he'd been sixteen and had made a similar mistake in judgment. "Yes. You can quit laughing."

Jenny folded herself into one of the restaurant's outdoor tables, still chuckling. "Oh, I'm not laughing _at_ you, Ianto."

"It feels as though you are," he countered.

"No, not at _you_, at the absurdity." She kicked one of the table's empty seats out and motioned for him to join her.

Ianto reluctantly sat on the offered seat, grateful it hadn't rained lately. "What is so absurd about what I said?"

Jenny rubbed a hand across her face as though trying to physically wipe away her mirth. "By Vot, where do I start? How about with 'someone closer to your own age'? What, exactly, did you mean? Should I look for someone else ripped out of time? How about looking for someone else who started out as a force-grown demiclone? Or were you seriously suggesting I start lurking around schools?"

A small smile managed to work its way onto Ianto's face. _It's easy to forget, isn't it? She looks like she's only seventeen. She tends to act like she's only seventeen. It's too easy to forget that she's not quite what she appears._ "You might have a point, Jenny. I apologize."

"Apology accepted. Now, how come you automatically assumed I was asking because I was romantically interested in you?" Jenny bluntly asked.

A faint hint of pink washed across his ears. "Call it conceit, for that's what it surely must have been."

"'An idea, opinion, or theme, especially one that is fanciful or unusual in some way'," Jenny quoted, then snickered. "Wouldn't have thought you to be the imaginative sort, but that was sort of the point. I don't know you."

_Not exactly what I was aiming for,_ Ianto thought, but had to admit her interpretation of his statement was a bit more flattering – and more easily forgivable – than the fact that he'd had to fend off far too many 'interested' people in his life. "Well, I do rather enjoy fantasy," he said, deciding to drop the topic of his being fanciable entirely. "More classic Lewis Carroll than Tolkien, though."

"At last!" Jenny nearly shouted. "A datum of personal information! I feel as though I ought to take out a billboard advertisement to commemorate the day. But I won't. You're really _private_, aren't you?"

Ianto shrugged. _I have my reasons for that. As soon as Lisa is well again, I won't be staying. I never wanted to return to Wales, but circumstances forced my hand. _"Less than some, more than others," he said, then stood. "However, lunch won't order itself."

* * *

_12 July, 2006__  
__16:22_

SYSTEMS ONLINE  
RUNNING SYSTEM DIAGNOSTIC… 100%  
SYSTEMS FULLY INTEGRATED  
COLLATING DATA… 100%  
ACTIVATING COMMUNICATIONS UPLINK WITH CYBERLEADER 1… 100%  
RECEIVING PROGRAMMING UPGRADE… 100%  
INTEGRATING UPGRADES… 100%  
UNIT DESIGNATION: CYBERFORM FAILSAFE 6  
PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: ENSURE SURVIVAL OF CYBERFORM SPECIES  
SUBDIRECTIVE A: PRESERVE CYBERFORM CONVERSION MODULE  
SUBDIRECTIVE B: LOCATE SUITABLE BASE IN WHICH CYBERFORM CONVERSION MODULE MAY REMAIN UNCORRUPTED  
SUBDIRECTIVE C: LOCATE SIGNIFICANT POPULATION COMPATIBLE WITH CYBERFORM UPGRADE PROCESS  
SUBDIRECTIVE D: UPGRADE ALL COMPATIBLE BIOLOGICAL UNITS TO CYBERFORM

RUNNING SCENARIO PROJECTIONS… 100%  
SIMULATE UNCONSCIOUSNESS. PARTIAL-UPGRADE OF BIOLOGICAL FORM WILL BE ASSUMED TO BE INCOMPLETE. SUCCESSFUL EXECUTION OF PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: 74%  
UNACCEPTABLE

ACCESSING DATA STORE OF BIOLOGICAL NEURAL PROCESSING UNIT... 100%  
ACCESSING COLLECTIVE DATA STORE OF ALL NEWLY-UPGRADED BIOLOGICAL PROCESSING UNITS… 100%  
COLLATING RESULTS… 100%  
RUNNING SCENARIO PROJECTIONS… 100%  
SUCCESSFUL EXECUTION OF PRIMARY DIRECTIVE 97% IF BIOLOGICAL NEURAL PROCESSING UNIT'S PAIR-BOND MAY BE LOCATED AND CONTROLLED.

OPENING COMMUNICATIONS CHANNEL… 100%  
ATTENTION: UNIT DESIGNATION: CYBERFORM FAILSAFE 6B (HUMAN DESIGNATION: IANTO JONES) NOT FOR UPGRADE. ESCORT TO CYBERFORM FAILSAFE 6 LOCATION. EXECUTE STRATEGY 142.  
CLOSING COMMUNICATIONS CHANNEL… 100%

ACCESSING SIMULATION: EMOTION (SUBTYPE: HUMAN)… 100%  
ACTIVATING SUBROUTINE: FEAR… 100%  
ACTIVATING SUBROUTINE: PAIN… 100%  
ACTIVATING SUBROUTINE: SHOCK… 100%  
ACCESSING BIOLOGICAL NEURAL PROCESSING UNIT'S SPEECH CENTER… 100%

"Ianto, please… Help me. It _hurts_."

* * *

_28 October, 2006  
22:42_

A minor temblor of unusual energy on Tosh's computers led to hours of extremely irritating running around after a kid who'd happened across a piece of technology he had no hope of understanding. Jenny managed to tackle the kid as he'd tried jumping the turnstiles at the train station and kept him occupied until Owen and Jack arrived on-scene. A half-hour of interrogation later revealed the kid had found an entire biscuit-tin of space-debris, which was easily collected.

The two-part bit of tech found its way into the 'pile of things Tosh hasn't yet found a purpose for', and was swiftly forgotten. Most of the rest of the day was spent in explaining the rules of basketball to Jenny.

* * *

_15 July, 2006_  
_23:55_

"Oh, Lisa… What are we gonna do?"

ACCESSING SIMULATION: EMOTION (SUBTYPE: HUMAN)… 100%  
ACTIVATING SUBROUTINE: PAIN… 100%  
ACTIVATING SUBROUTINE: CONSOLATION… 100%

"My Ianto… Isn't there a place you can take me? This… place… Not at all weather-tight, is it?"

"I know, sweetheart. I just… I can't think…"

ACCESSING DATA STORE OF BIOLOGICAL NEURAL PROCESSING UNIT… 100%  
COLLATING DATA… 100%  
RUNNING SCENARIO PROJECTIONS… 100%

"What about… asking one of the other Torchwood branches for help?"

"Ha! Four's gone, Cariad. One's gone. Two's just that senile old man, looking after the bloody Loch Ness monster!"

"Three? I know they've not… Not spoken to T1 in a while…"

"Captain Harkness severed contact, Lisa. If the rumors are true, then I don't know if I'd want his help."

ACCESSING DATA STORE OF BIOLOGICAL NEURAL PROCESSING UNIT… 100%  
COLLATING DATA… 100%  
RUNNING SCENARIO PROJECTIONS… 100%

"I… Love, my Ianto… I can't… I don't know how long I can stay with you. Not like this… The… The batteries can't last forever, my love. Let… Let me go."

"NO! Never, Lisa, never!"

"The power won't last, my Ianto… And the regulator, yes… That one… Can't concentrate, can't control it. Too linked in, but not enough to make any difference."

"We need a steady power source and a decent mainframe to control the… To control your life-support, don't we?"

RUNNING SCENARIO PROJECTIONS… FATAL ERROR  
ALL KNOWN INFORMATION ON UNIT DESIGNATION: CAPTAIN JACK HARKNESS DESIGNATED RUMOR AS PER BIOLOGICAL NEURAL PROCESSING UNIT'S DATA, CANNOT ACCURATELY CALCULATE PROJECTIONS

"Oh, Cariad… How am I supposed to get you to Cardiff?"

"The truck…"

"I know that part, sweetheart. How do I get you into Torchwood once we're there, though?"

ACCESSING DATA STORE OF BIOLOGICAL NEURAL PROCESSING UNIT, SPECIFIC QUERY: RUMOR, HARKNESS, JACK, CAPTAIN… 100%  
COLLATING RESULTS… 100%

"You've heard the rumors…?"

"Which rumors, Lisa?"

"About the captain."

"Yeah, Cariad. I've heard the rumors. What about them?"

"You're gorgeous, my Ianto…"

"You can't be serious!"

"Love, it's not any worse… not any worse than Emma's flirting with Jameson for that secretarial position. Please, my Ianto."

ACCESSING SIMULATION: EMOTION (SUBTYPE: HUMAN)… 100%  
ACTIVATING SUBROUTINE: PAIN… 100%  
ACTIVATING SUBROUTINE: TIREDNESS… 100%

"Lisa? What's wrong?"

"The morphine is wearing off. Please, my Ianto… What choice do we have?"

ANALYZING FACIAL EXPRESSION: UNIT DESIGNATION: CYBERFORM FAILSAFE 6B (HUMAN DESIGNATION: IANTO JONES)  
COLLATING DATA… 100%  
TRANSFER OF CYBERFORM FAILSAFE 6 TO LOCATION DESIGNATION: TORCHWOOD 3 CARDIFF – IMMINENT

* * *

_3 November, 2006  
18:15_

Ianto let out a small breath of relief as the rest of the team left through the cogwheel door. _Finally! Thought they might have decided to stick around, despite the fact the rift's been so quiet this week._ He tossed the basketball onto the sofa and hurriedly placed an order for pizza. _If all goes well, this is the last time I'll have to suffer sub-par pizza._ A small grin graced his face for a split-second, before the alarm sounded, indicating his guest had arrived.

He hurried to greet the man. "Good to see you again, sir. Are they looking after you at the hotel?" His guest simply looked slightly disappointed. Ianto took the hint and calmed himself. "Konbanwa, Tanizaki-san."

The visitor gave him a short bow and replied, "Konbanwa."

Ianto took Tanizaki's briefcase and gestured for the man to follow him. After far more stairs than strictly necessary, in Ianto's opinion, the pair finally arrived at a heavy, reinforced door, triple-locked. "I did all I could," Ianto said, unlocking the door. "I really did."

Opening the door, he hurried inside, then watched Tanizaki out the corner of his eyes. The visitor looked slightly stunned for a moment, and then a flash of pure _want_ shot across his face. "My god, it's not possible. One of them survived."

Ianto leaned down and gave his 'patient' a soft kiss. "This is Lisa," he said, his voice quiet.

"Is she awake?"

Ianto shook his head. "It's just a reaction to the medication." As always, he was having difficulty looking away from his Lisa. _Help's here, Cariad. Help's finally here._

"She's the only one left across the whole world," Tanizaki enthused, dragging Ianto's eyes back to him. "Thank you. Thank you so much for bringing me here. I never thought to get my chance to study – to work with _anything _like this."

"_Anyone_," Ianto automatically corrected. Though he currently was swimming in the first solid hope he'd had in _months_, a tiny seedling of doubt was filtering in, assisted by the visitor's inability to see that there was a human being tied up in all the impressive, shiny technology.

Tanizaki stepped up next to Lisa and began visually inspecting her. "Tell me what happened." Ianto didn't really want to, but provided him with a _severely _edited version of events during the Battle of Canary Wharf. "You found her?" Tanizaki asked.

"I pulled her out," Ianto replied, his brain calling up the memories of just how difficult that had been. While his memories were playing inside his head, Tanizaki asked another question. "The what?" Ianto asked for clarification.

"Some elements have been augmented. Some are still human," the man said, tracing fingertips along the metal bits caging Ianto's Lisa. Ianto had to clench his fists to keep from hitting the man, arguing – for the moment, successfully – with his instinct to pummel anyone who dared touch his girlfriend so familiarly. "Sensory capacity, for instance. Her breathing appears completely cybernetic. And yet there's also bare flesh," Tanizaki punctuated the comment by touching Lisa's exposed naval and Ianto clenched his teeth, in addition to his fists. "Amazing," Tanizaki continued. "Perhaps fifty-five percent augmentation with forty-five percent awaiting completion. Do you think? Or perhaps maybe sixty-forty. It's fascinating," the visitor finally tore his eyes away and deigned to look at his host.

"Can you make her human again?" Ianto wasted no time cutting to the heart of the matter.

Tanizaki didn't answer, his eyes moving on from Ianto and landing on Lisa's life-support. "You took parts from a Cyber-conversion unit and modified them into a life-support for her! How did you know what to do?"

Ianto was just about to tell the man that this was a mistake – _It's obvious he's only after the technology, not saving my Cariad_ – when Lisa opened her eyes and said, "I told him," in a pain-filled voice.

"I thought you were resting," Ianto crouched over her, his irritation with the supposed 'expert' he'd invited momentarily forgotten. "You should be resting. How's the pain? Are the new doses working?"

"A little," Lisa replied, and how Ianto would give _anything_ to be able to erase the strain from her voice. Her eyes drifted to the side and widened slightly. "Oh! Is this him?"

"I promised, didn't I?" Ianto gave her a tight smile.

"And you always keep your promises," Lisa met his smile with one of her own. Even though it was pain-filled and nothing at all like the smile that had stolen his heart, Ianto was glad to see it. She'd not smiled much since he'd found her.

"I would like to ask her some questions," Tanizaki interrupted the private moment between them. "My name is Dr. Tanizaki. I specialize in cybernetics. Your friend, Mr. Jones, asked me –"

"My boyfriend," Lisa corrected.

"Yes," Tanizaki continued, unphased. "He asked me to come."

"We agreed," Lisa once more corrected the doctor's assumptions. "Together."

_Please let this work,_ Ianto prayed to whatever deity might be listening. _Please let this work._

An hour later, and that hope multiplied itself exponentially. Lisa was breathing on her own. _On her own_. They were suddenly Ianto's three most favorite words in the English language. Unfortunately, he didn't have long to savor them. The small alarm program he'd set to warn him when Jack – specifically, his wrist-mounted remote control – was within a hundred meters of the water tower beeped into life.

Moving as quickly as Lisa could – though not nearly quick enough for Ianto's peace of mind – he managed to safely secure his Cariad and Dr. Tanizaki within the room housing Lisa's now-unneeded life-support system. The panic at being nearly caught had managed to wipe the hope-fueled grin off his face. "As soon as they're gone, I'll be down," he promised.

_I really hope that this isn't going to be anything serious. Though that would run concurrent with my typical level of luck if this wound up being one of the 'end of the world' problems Torchwood seems to deal with in alarming abundance._

* * *

RUNNING SCENARIO PROJECTIONS… 100%  
SCANNING BIOLOGICAL UNIT… 100%  
BIOLOGICAL UNIT DESIGNATION: TANIZAKI – COMPATIBLE

"Take it slowly. You are still very weak. This way."

INCAPACITATION OF BIOLOGICAL UNIT IN PROGRESS… 100%  
BEGINNING UPGRADE PROCESS...

* * *

Ianto arrived in the Hub's main area to find Tosh and Owen working on their computers, with Jenny on the phone, and Jack flipping through a stack of papers. Jack checked something he was reading against the display on Tosh's secondary monitor, then glanced over at him. "Ianto. Would you work some coffee magic?"

_He didn't even say 'please'._ It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse, but Jack managed to shave off a solid three inches of anger simply by making a pleading, begging expression. Ianto sighed mentally, then nodded and hurried over to the espresso machine.

* * *

"Lisa, let me go."

UPGRADE IN PROGRESS… ERROR  
CYBERFORM CONVERSION MODULE FUNCTIONING AT DIMINISHED CAPACITY  
SCANNING CYBERFORM CONVERSION MODULE… 100%  
NO KNOWN ERRORS OR CORRUPTIONS

"I can help you. The human race is weak. I can make you strong."

UPGRADE IN PROGRESS…

* * *

Ianto prepped the grounds and was about to set the machine to brew when the lights flickered. _No, no, no… What's Tanizaki _doing_?_

"What's happening?" Jack asked, and Ianto could tell he was slightly alarmed.

"Internal power drain," Tosh dutifully replied.

"What's causing it?" echoed around in Owen's voice.

"Something big to drain that amount of power," Jack said. "Tosh – run a system diagnostic."

Cold panic wrapped its hands around Ianto's chest and _squeezed_. He couldn't let Tosh run the diagnostic – it would all but paint a map directly to Lisa. Ianto stepped away from the espresso machine and leaned against the walkway's railing. "Actually," he called down, idly wondering if he sounded as panicked as he felt, "we've been having generator problems all evening. I was down there checking earlier. Couple bits of cabling have come loose. I thought I'd fixed it. Let me have another look?"

Jack looked at him, and Ianto wondered if he could somehow tell when someone was lying. "Fine," his boss eventually said, though the pause likely hadn't been detectible by the others. "Go check."

Jenny hung up the phone as he passed her. "Want some help?" she asked.

Ianto shook his head and continued on his way. _The last thing I need is that little girl getting in Dr. Tanizaki's way. Not when we're so _close_. Knew I shouldn't have left him on his own down there, not with all that technology just lying about._

* * *

UPGRADE IN PROGRESS… FATAL ERROR  
RUNNING DIAGNOSTIC ON CYBERFORM CONVERSION MODULE…

"You've got to shut down the power!"

ANALYZING AUDIO INPUT… 100%  
RUNNING SCENARIO PROJECTIONS… 100%

"Oh, god. Oh, my god. What happened?"

"His upgrade failed."

DIAGNOSTIC CHECK COMPLETE  
CYBERFORM CONVERSION MODULE FUNCTIONING AT DIMINISHED CAPACITY  
QUERY: CAUSE OF DIMINISHED CAPACITY…  
COLLATING DATA…

"Was it an accident? Tell me you didn't do this!"

"I wanted to repay him for helping me by removing the weaknesses of his humanity."

"What have you done? You've killed an innocent man!"

"It's all right."

MINOR DAMAGE DISCOVERED IN POWER CONVERSION CAPACITORS

"It's not all right! They're gonna come looking for me in a minute. If they see the body, if they find out what we've been doing –"

"I can deal with them."

UPLINK TO REPAIR CYBERFORM CONVERSION MODULE  
COMPLETION OF PRIMARY DIRECTIVE IMINENT  
SUBDIRECTIVE A: COMPLETE – PARTIALLY SUCCESSFUL  
SUBDIRECTIVE A1: UPLINK TO CYBERFORM CONVERSION MODULE AND REPAIR DAMAGE  
SUBDIRECTIVE B: COMPLETE – PARTIALLY SUCCESSFUL, GOTO SUBDIRECTIVE A1  
SUBDIRECTIVE C: COMPLETE – SUCCESSFUL  
SUBDIRECTIVE D: UPGRADE ALL COMPATIBLE BIOLOGICAL UNITS TO CYBERFORM – IN PROGRESS  
TIME REQUIRED TO REPAIR CYBERFORM CONVERSION MODULE: 3.433 MINUTES

"Don't you go near them! You didn't mean to do this. Something's happened to your mind. Just some kind of side-effect from this whole process. It's post-traumatic. You didn't mean to… You've ruined everything now! How hard have we had to work to keep you alive? And now you do this… I need you to stay in here. Rest. Don't come out unless I tell you. This can't happen again, Lisa. If you harm anyone else I'll –"

"Yes? What will you do?"

"Okay, the body. I've got to deal with the body. I can do this… This is my fault. I'm responsible for this… I'll hide the body. Everything's gonna be okay."

TIME ACQUIRED TO REPAIR CYBERFORM CONVERSION MODULE  
COMMENCING REPAIR…

* * *

While Ianto scurried off to deal with loose cables, Jack couldn't help but think that there had been something _off_ about their resident coffee-expert. However, it was something he'd need to think about later. _Once the current crisis is taken care of._

"Definitely not a case of mistaken identity," Owen said, turning from his computer. "Nothing RAF, international, covert, civilian, or in any way originating from Earth's been sent via those coordinates in the last two weeks."

"I think I've got something," Tosh said, motioning for them to crowd around her primary monitor. It displayed a shaky video, likely originating from someone's mobile phone, that had been uploaded to YouTube only twenty minutes earlier.

Jenny let out a small laugh. "Isn't that an Arkan leisure crawler?"

Jack peered at the screen and nodded. "First generation, too. Collector's item. Don't see many of them around these days." He tapped a fingernail against the barely-visible finlike extenders along the rear of the spaceship, drawing a slight glare from Toshiko. "Tosh, send a polite message saying great to see them, but could they please get the hell out of our atmosphere – they're spooking the locals."

"I can do it," Jenny volunteered. "Open a radio frequency – twenty-six point nine eight five three two megahertz."

Tosh glanced at Jack, received a 'what the hell' shrug, and did so. "Done," she said, hitting a few keys.

"Route it through my earpiece, this might take a minute," Jenny said, slipping the headset around her left ear. Once Tosh gave her a quick nod to indicate the link was up and working, Jenny smiled pleasantly, then spoke a series of syllables that sounded like bubbles rising through thick liquid, punctuated by a couple of words that put Tosh in the mind of a boiling kettle, then finished off with a leaky faucet. She paused, listening, then replied in the same language. Taking off the earpiece, she grinned. "Done," she chirped.

"Where'd you learn to speak Arkan?" Jack asked, more than a little impressed.

Before Jenny could reply, the lights flickered again, and Tosh's computer let out a 'rebooting' chime. "There it goes again," Owen needlessly observed aloud.

Jack hit the button on his own communicator earpiece. "Ianto, we've got another dose of darkness. You found anything?" The silence he received as a reply sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through his body. "Ianto? I need to hear those beautiful Welsh vowels." The lights flickered another couple of flares, then went out completely. _I do not like this_. Emergency lights, sporadic though they were, came on, simultaneous with Tosh's computer coming back online. _Though it's nice to see the battery backups for the workstations seem to function like they should._

Without waiting for an order, Tosh quickly began a system diagnostic. It only took a moment for results to show. "The power's draining to the storeroom at the bottom of the building," she said, entering a new string of commands. "Looking for human heat signals. We've got –"

"Two signals?" Owen interrupted, gesturing to the map of the Hub displayed on the screen.

"So," Tosh said. "Assuming one's Ianto – who's the other?"

Already heading for the small weapons locker, Jack summed everyone's thoughts up quite succinctly. "I'm thinking we're under attack. Security's been breached. We assume battle protocols." He opened the locker and began checking the handguns stored there as he passed them out to his team.

"That's impossible. Nobody can get in without triggering seven separate alarms," Tosh protested, but still accepted the gun.

"Yeah, well, looks like our system needs to be upgraded," Jack replied.

"I'll head down and look for Ianto," Owen volunteered, automatically running the pistol through the exact same check Jack had just given it.

"I'll go with you," Jenny added, checking her own pistol – the one she wore more habitually than Jack wore his Webley – and tightening the elastic holding her hair in its customary tail.

"Keep your coms open at all times," Jack ordered. "Any doubt – shoot first. Priority is to find Ianto."

* * *

CYBERFORM CONVERSION MODULE REPAIRED  
RUNNING DIAGNOSTIC CHECK… 100%  
SCANNING CYBERFORM CONVERSION MODULE… 100%  
NO DAMAGE DETECTED  
NO CORRUPTION DETECTED  
NO ERRORS DETECTED  
PRESUME FUNCTIONING OF CYBERFORM CONVERSION MODULE AT 100%

COMMENCE UPGRADE OF ALL COMPATIBLE BIOLOGICAL UNITS IN LOCAL AREA TO CYBERFORM

* * *

"What do you normally keep this far down?" Jenny whispered, stalking along the shadows on the opposite side of the hall from Owen.

"Nothing," Owen replied, still a little ticked that the girl seemed to think she knew better than he did when it came to a simple sweep&clear.

Jenny halted in her tracks, pressed herself into a tiny crack of space in the wall – an easement for a pipe – and held up the hand not holding her pistol in a distinctive 'stop' gesture. "Progress report," Jack's voice came over their coms, distorted by static.

Jenny replied, "Signs of activity at the eastern end of the main corridor." She beckoned to Owen. "What's through that door?" she asked, still whispering, and pointing to a double-door, made of steel-reinforced wood, that barred their way. A small rectangular window set in the right-hand door revealed intense flickering light on the other side, and a nearly inaudible hum – more felt than heard – of electrical energy seemed to emanate from within.

"General storage," Owen replied. "Was overflow for the archives until Ianto started cleaning up the files. Should be empty now, though."

"Jack – there's a room down here we need to check out. No sign of Ianto yet. Where's the heat-signal traced him to?" Jenny asked over the com.

Overcome by static severe enough that it nearly obliterated his words, Jack's reply came back a heartbeat later, "We're …sing your … signal…"

Owen went to take a step towards the door blocking them from the area Tosh's computer had last indicated Ianto had most likely been, only to be nearly strangled as his t-shirt dug into the front of his throat. He backed up the half-step he'd managed and glared at Jenny in the low light. "What the fuck?"

"You're a dumbass," she stated matter-of-factly. Owen opened his mouth to argue the point, but Jenny jerked him back down the hallway. He had no choice but to follow – the damn girl had a death-grip on the back of his t-shirt collar. Retreating to a point where the hallways branched off in either direction, she let go of him. "Keep an eye out, Dr. Gormless."

"Why should I listen to you, blondie?"

The look Jenny leveled at him could have curdled milk. "This is what I do, Owen," Jenny insisted. "Can you wrap your insignificant little mind around that fact? Before I was stranded here, I got into – and out of, might I add – situations that would give you nightmares. Or, to put it more simply: I. Am. A. Soldier. Are you?" Again, Owen opened his mouth to argue, but Jenny physically turned him around and brought his gun up. "Keep an eye out, dumbass."

Jenny turned so she could see down both the hallway they'd just exited and the branch off to the right, then tried com-link again. "Jack?"

"Report," Jack's voice – even distorted by the radio – carried palpable relief.

"Owen's being a dumbass," Jenny quickly replied, then said, "but otherwise, I think we found the source of the power drain. It's interfering with the coms. No sign of Ianto yet, either."

"Okay. Check out the room. Stop the power drain, if you can. If not, get back up here ASAP," Jack ordered. "If I don't hear from you in two minutes, I'm gonna come looking."

"Understood," Jenny replied. "Anything coming?" she asked Owen.

"Not that I can see," he groused. He didn't want to admit it, but Jenny had actually done the right thing in backtracking to a point where their coms could be used.

"Then let's get to work," Jenny replied, stepping into the hall that led to the double-doors.

Instead of pausing like before, they both slunk right up to the doors. Owen peered through the grimy glass window, but couldn't clearly see what was on the other side. He glanced down at Jenny. The girl quirked a questioning eyebrow at him. "Can't see well enough," he said, smirking inwardly at _something_ he was better at than the little girl – even if that something was only being taller than she was. "There is something in there, though. Some kind of operating table."

Jenny reached up and slid the first lock open, then followed suit with the second bolt near the floor. She then laid a hand on the wind-up key protruding from the wood at the doors' midpoint in lieu of a doorknob or handle. She glanced up at Owen. He nodded, and she turned the key. "I'll take the left," she said, "you go right."

Once the mechanism clicked, Owen drew up a leg and kicked the doors open. He began to sweep the right half of the storage room, but came to a complete standstill as his brain recognized the 'operating table'. "No," he said, then repeated it, several times, each repetition getting louder and more vehement. "This is wrong! Beyond wrong! It shouldn't be here!"

Jenny finished sweeping her half of the room and finally looked at the thing devouring the Hub's power supply. An icy chill ran down her back; though she'd not actually seen the conversion units herself at the time, she knew what came out of them. She actually agreed with Owen's assessment, though she wasn't about to admit it to him. _His ego's big enough as it is_.

Owen was continuing to rant, "These things brought down Torchwood One. But they were all destroyed. Why is there one in our bloody basement!?"

Jenny ignored him and rushed over to the bank of computers that had been jury-rigged into the conversion unit. A friendly big red button sat in a small box next to a green one – Jenny thought they might've been sourced from the controls for an industrial garage door opener. She hit the red button, secretly hoping that whoever 'owned' the technology hadn't tried being cleverer than usual.

Luck was with her; the red button powered down the machine. As the last of the hum from it faded, Jack's voice broke over the coms, "If I don't hear something within thirty seconds, I'm coming down there."

"Jack, we've got a major problem," Owen answered. Jenny let him take over speaking with their captain – she was too busy tracing the cobbled-together wires, trying to figure out which ones to rip out to completely disable the conversion unit.

"Ianto?"

Owen shook his head, even though he knew Jack couldn't see him. "No," he replied. "But we've found parts of a Cyber-conversion unit, fully powered up and working."

Jenny located what she thought was the main power line, and began backtracing it, intending to rip it out of the wall if need be.

"This is no time to be kidding around, Owen," Jack said.

"I'm deadly serious. I don't know why it's here or how it got here, but that's what's draining our power." When Jack didn't immediately reply, Owen asked, "Jack? You there?"

"I want the two of you back up here immediately."

"We still haven't found –" A high-pitched shriek sounded behind him, cutting off his words. Owen spun around and froze at what he saw. A partially-upgraded woman had grabbed Jenny by her ponytail and had lifted the girl – one handed – high enough that the girl's feet were dangling and unable to connect with the cement floor.

"You are not compatible," the Cyberman – _Cyberwoman_, Owen mentally corrected – droned, looking Jenny over. "You will be deleted." Before Owen could bring his pistol up, the Cyberwoman had tossed a dazed Jenny upwards, caught her by her left shoulder, and – while pressing the blonde against the wall – had let loose with an electrical charge of some sort. Owen could see lightning flickers dancing over Jenny's body.

"Won't," Jenny gasped, "won't work!"

The Cyberwoman paused and looked at the girl head-to-toe once more. "Incompatible biological unit possesses unknown upgrade of a layer of nonconductive material. Standard deletion process incompatible. Initializing secondary deletion process."

The panic-lock freezing Owen in place released him. He brought up his gun and thumbed off the safety. "Jack! Code zero incursion!" he shouted through the com, hoping it would distract the Cyberwoman. It didn't.

He aimed and pulled the trigger twice.

The bullets simply ricocheted off of the Cyberwoman's armored head. She didn't even turn around. Grasping Jenny's left arm tightly with both hands, the Cyberwoman spun around.

Owen was forced to duck before the centripetal force of the spin had Jenny inadvertently kicking him in the side of his head. Before he could straighten up, he heard a loud crash, overlaid with a faint wet crunching noise, punctuated by a tiny whimper. Spotting Jenny's toylike gun, he scooped it up.

He came face-to-face with the Cyberwoman. Owen leveled both pistols at her without so much as blinking, then pulled both triggers. Jenny's gun didn't fire. The Cyberwoman let his gun's bullet bounce off of her armor again, then knocked the guns from his hands. Lifting him by his throat, she scanned him in the same manner she'd scanned Jenny. "You are compatible," she droned.

_So this is how it ends,_ flashed through Owen's mind. _Killed by a fucking Cyberwoman._ He struggled, though it didn't do him any good. The Cyberwoman pressed him onto the conversion table and restraints clicked tight around his wrists and ankles, then it turned the machine back on.

As the prongs extended to hold his head in place, Owen heard Jack's 'don't fuck with me' voice yell, "Throw down any weapons, put your hands up, and turn and face me!"

"Get me out of this fucking thing, Jack!" Owen shouted. _I'm not panicked. I'm not panicked. Fuck it – if this isn't a time to panic, I don't know what is!_

"You're a woman!" Jack sounded somewhat shocked.

"Flirt with the damn thing later, Harkness! Get me outta here!"

A shot sounded over the noise of the machine, and Owen desperately wished he could see what was going on. But no – all he could see was that the conversion unit's ceiling portal had opened, and a spidery array of wicked-looking instruments was descending towards his head.

"You're fighting the wrong guy!" Jack shouted, and Owen wondered who he was talking to.

"Switch it off!" Owen shrieked. He didn't even care that he sounded like a twelve year old girl at the moment.

"I'm trying," Ianto's voice could barely be heard over the noise of the machine. "She's changed all the circuits!"

"Toshiko," Jack said, "cut all power in the base!" Owen, despite the twirling mechanical death above him, wondered what had happened to the Cyberwoman. "Just do it!"

Much later than Owen would have liked, the death-machine finally died. Jack appeared in his line-of-sight. "Owen?"

"I'm…" he shook his head, in as much as the clamps would let him. "Just get me out of this thing."

Jack hit a few buttons on his wrist-remote, and the restraints released. Shakily, Owen climbed off the table. "Where is she?" he asked, looking around the room. "Please tell me you got her."

"Stand guard by the door," Jack ordered Ianto, then shook his head a little at Owen. "She got away."

"I'm sorry," Ianto mumbled as he headed for the doors. "I'm really sorry."

Owen frowned, wondering what Ianto had to be sorry about, but caught a suspicious look on Jack's face. Once Tea-Boy was out of earshot, Jack asked, "Jenny?"

Seconds of searching located Jenny, crumpled among the debris of a cheap particleboard side table, the contents of which were scattered under, over, and around her. Even without looking closely, Owen could tell that her left arm was dislocated at the shoulder and likely broken in at least two places. He checked her pulse and couldn't find one immediately. He was about to say as much to Jack, but then recalled how she'd slowed her autonomic systems down to the point his equipment upstairs could barely detect signs of life. "Don't know," he said looking at the captain. "Anyone else and I'd say no joy, clear a space in the morgue. But her?"

"Can she be moved?" Jack asked.

Owen shrugged. "Honestly? I don't know. I don't know if she hurt her back or neck or if this is just a reaction from the damage to her arm or even if she's alive."

Jack looked around the room, then back at Jenny's too-still form. "Have to chance it," he said, then carefully picked her up.

* * *

**A/N2:** I really, really hope that the bits from Cyber!Lisa's POV come across clearly. It took me forever to figure out how to make her portion of the story obvious without coming right out and describing every-damn-thing. And though the vast majority of this verse will be told in either Jack's or Jenny's POVs, this particular tale could only really be done justice to by maintaining mostly Ianto's (and Lisa's) POVs.


	7. Too Well

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'Torchwood'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** The conclusion of _Cyberwoman_.

* * *

**Synchronicity**

_Chapter Seven: Too Well_

_3 November, 2006  
20:47_

"What the fuck're we gonna do?" Owen asked, his panic from being trapped within the conversion unit still very much in evidence.

"I don't know," Jack replied, wishing he had a spare hand. He was carrying Jenny with one arm under her knees and the other wrapped around her shoulders. _Don't dare try a fireman's carry, not without knowing if there's more wrong than her arm._ Owen was a half-step behind and to his left. Ianto was a half-step ahead and to his right. _And I don't know what I'm supposed to do about Jones… Not if what I suspect is right._

The three of them halted as the Cyberwoman appeared at the end of the corridor. Owen raised his gun, but she simply stared at them before moving on. "Come on," he said, taking a single step. It was enough to un-freeze Ianto and Owen. "Let's get back to the Hub."

It didn't take as long to reach the main level as Jack had feared; they didn't run into the Cyberwoman again, which had been Jack's main concern. "Tosh! Get everything from the weapons room, fast as you can!" he called out, carrying Jenny down to the med-bay. "Owen – see what you can do," he laid the girl down on the table. "Quickly."

"Don't need to tell me twice," Owen replied, wasting no time at all in switching on the battery-backup for his favored scanner. With the main power down, he wouldn't be able to project the readings on the wall, but the machine had a perfectly serviceable screen attached.

As soon as he was no loner encumbered by ninety pounds of blonde, Jack retrieved his Webley from its holster and grit his jaw as he strode back to where Ianto was standing near the lift. Tosh's voice echoed down to him, "It's locked down. There's no manual override."

"Just open the store," Jack yelled back, then cocked his gun and leveled it at Ianto. "On your knees," he ordered, "hands above your head." Acting as though he were on autopilot, Ianto followed Jack's instructions.

Tosh stumbled to a dead stop a few feet away. "Jack?"

"I gave you an order, Tosh," Jack didn't bother looking her way. "Did you know that thing was down there?"

From the medical bay, Owen could hear what was going on. He desperately wanted to _see_ it, but focused on his patient instead. The scanner finished its job and he let out a small breath of relief – the scan was nearly identical to the one he'd run when she'd been recovering from the psychic attack of the entity that had invaded the girl who'd exploded, and the only physical damage it picked up on was to her arm. He moved the scanner and changed its settings to check exactly what was going on with her injury.

"I put her there," Ianto stated, wondering what had gone wrong.

Jack's finger tightened on the trigger. "You hid a Cyberman within Torchwood and you didn't tell us!?" _I will not shoot. I will not shoot. Not until I have the answers I need. I will not shoot._ "What else are you keeping from us?"

The scanner revealed what he had suspected – Jenny's shoulder was badly dislocated, her humerus all but crushed at the end connecting to her elbow. Owen shut the machine off and ran a hand through his hair. "What a fucking mess. Do I do for you as I'd do for Tosh or anyone else? You never said. Honestly, I didn't ask. Didn't think. Thought that body armor of yours protected you from physical injury." Owen closed his eyes and silently pushed away the indecision. "No worse than A&E. Same problems. Focus, Harper." Opening his eyes, he got to work.

Jack could see anger beginning to boil up in Ianto. "What else!?" he shouted.

"Like you care," Ianto spat it at him. "I clear up your shit, no questions asked, and that's the way you like it. When did you last ask me anything about my life?"

Jack ignored the stab of guilt that question generated. "Why didn't you _tell us_?" he pressed.

"Torchwood exists to destroy alien threats. Lisa is my _girlfriend_ – why would I tell you about her?"

"A little loyalty, perhaps?" Owen shouted from the med-bay, filling a syringe while attempting to keep his emotions at bay.

"My loyalty's to her!" Ianto shouted back. "She worked for Torchwood. She was caught up in battle. I owe it to Lisa – _we _owe it to her – to find a cure!"

Owen shook his head. "Deluded," he muttered. Using a pair of scissors, he cut Jenny's t-shirt away from her damaged shoulder and arm, revealing the dull greenish-grey body armor she wore underneath. "You wake up, Blondie, and we're gonna have words about this inconvenient bit of clothing of yours," he said, eyeing the neckline. It exactly followed the line of where her t-shirt fit. The bit of his brain that wasn't actively engaged with the task at hand finally realized why the suit was called a 'Second Skin' – it looked as though it had been _painted_ on. "Come on, this has to be injected in the injury… Think, think…" He cast his mind back over the conversations he'd overheard when Jenny and Tosh had been discussing the suit.

"Ianto," Jack tried, he really did, to keep most of his fury out of his voice, trying to _will_ him to believe what he had to say. "You have to believe me, there is _no_ cure. There never will be. Those who are converted stay that way. Your girlfriend will _not_ be the exception."

"You can't know that for sure," Ianto argued, but something in his voice told Jack he was fighting the truth of the situation, desperately clinging to hope.

"Look," Jack replied, the tension on his trigger relaxing. "You need to know what's happening here, because this is where these things start: Small decisions that become mass slaughter. These creatures regain a foothold by exploiting human weakness. Then they take a base, rebuild their forces, and before you know it, the Cyberrace is spreading out across the universe, erasing worlds, assimilating populations. All because of the tiny beginnings _here_. We need to stop her."

Owen heard the lecture, but didn't pay it any mind. The word 'cyber' bounced into his memories of the suit-discussions, and exploded into a sudden realization. "Got it! Directed EMP ought to shut it down." He sat the syringe on his tray of instruments, then all but ran for Tosh's workstation. "Where is it, where is it," he rummaged through the technologies scattered around her computer; the tech expert kept a small handheld unidirectional EMP generator on hand to shut down any bits of technology in emergency situations. "Ah! Gotcha, you little bugger!" He sprinted back to the med-bay.

"You're not listening to me," Ianto pleaded. "The conversion was never completed."

"She already tried to kill Jenny. Tried to _upgrade_," Jack said the word with extreme distaste, "Owen. You think she's gonna stop there? There's no turning back for her now."

Owen aimed the torch-shaped generator at Jenny and clicked the button to fire it. A high-pitched whine sounded, then a nearly-silent clicking noise. He exchanged the generator for the syringe. "Hope that worked," he muttered. He needn't have worried – it was obvious once he stood next to the table that it had. Jenny's body armor no longer fit quite so exactly. In addition, the neckline and exposed sleeve had retracted into a configuration Owen thought matched a swimming suit, the kind worn by competitive divers. "Good enough," he said, injecting the medication he'd mixed into the misshapen dislocation.

"I'm not giving up on her," Ianto said. "I love her. Can you understand that, Jack? Haven't you ever loved anyone?"

Jack resisted the urge to argue with him. _Now is so very not the time to get into that_. "You need to figure out whose side you're on here, because if you don't know, you're not going to make it out of this alive."

Tosh, slightly out of breath, skidded back into the Hub. "There's no way the weapons store's gonna open," she said. "And it's gonna take six hours for the power to come back online."

"Let me talk to her," Ianto paid no attention to Tosh. "I can still save her. Save us all. She's not a monster."

Owen managed to pop Jenny's shoulder back into place. The lower half of her humerus, however, was beyond what he could do in the med-bay, particularly with the primary power offline. He splinted it, noting in passing that the crushed bone was directly beneath a black bruise exactly in the shape of a handprint, then secured her injured arm to – hopefully – keep either injury from getting worse… And just in time.

The heavy, distinctive tread of hydraulic-assisted bootsteps echoed through the Hub.

* * *

SCANNING STRUCTURE…  
EXTRAPOLATING WEAKNESSES…  
SCAN COMPLETE  
92% FAVORABLE CONDITIONS

"The army will be rebuilt from here. This building is suitable."

"Who are you?"

"Human point two."

"So how come you look like human point one?"

ERROR  
QUERY ILLOGICAL

"I do not understand."

"Look at yourself. Go ahead."

"Remember, Lisa. Remember who you are."

SCANNING REFLECTIVE IMAGE  
IMAGE: CYBERFORM FAILSAFE 6  
IMAGE LOGICAL  
RUNNING SITUATION DIAGNOSTIC… 100%  
BIOLOGICAL UNITS OPERATING ON ASSUMPTION UPGRADE INCOMPLETE  
RUNNING SCENARIO PROJECTIONS… 100%

"The upgrade is incomplete."

"You're still human."

SECOND CYBERFORM NEEDED TO BRING PROJECTED SUCCESS RATE ABOVE 90%

"I am disgusting. I have – I am wrong."

"We can help you."

"I must start again. Upgrade properly."

"For god's sake, have you heard yourself? Lisa, please. I brought you here to heal you. So we could be together."

QUERY: CYBERFORM FAILSAFE 6B (HUMAN DESIGNATION: IANTO JONES) COMPATIBLE FOR UPGRADE  
SCANNING CYBERFORM FAILSAFE 6B (HUMAN DESGIGNATION: IANTO JONES)  
BIOLOGICAL UNIT COMPATIBLE  
REASSIGNING DESGIGNATION CYBERFORM FAILSAFE 6B (HUMAN DESIGNATION: IANTO JONES) TO STATUS: VALID FOR UPGRADE

"Together. Yes. Transplant my brain into your body. The two of us together. Fused. We'll be one complete person. Isn't that what love is?"

ERROR  
QUERY: LOVE  
ERROR  
RUNNING SELF-DIAGNOSTIC…

"No."

"Then we are not compatible."

ALERT: HOSTILE ENTITY  
INITIALIZING NEURTRALIZATION PROCEDURE  
THREAT NEUTRALIZED

"Code nine maneuvers, go!"

SELF-DIAGNOSTIC COMPLETE  
DAMAGE DETECTED IN BIOLOGICAL PROCESSING UNIT  
CAUSE: PROJECTILE IMPACT TO CRANIAL ARMOR  
ALERT: DAMAGE SPREADING, CORRUPTION TO ALL DATA FILES IMMINENT

INITIALIZING EMERGENCY PROTOCOLS

* * *

Thinking on his feet had always been Jack's specialty. The beginnings of a plan coalesced as he, Tosh, and Owen managed to pause for breath in the conference room. "This is a fight to the death," he said, "we do whatever is necessary to destroy her. Forget what Ianto said. That thing is not human. Clear?"

"No arguments from me," Owen replied, glancing through the windows to the level below.

Jack handed Tosh a small remote-like device. "What's this?" she asked.

"Something Suzie scavenged last year – you were out sick that week. Said it could open any lock. I want you out the exit gates," Jack grabbed a pair of capacitors that helped regulate the energy feed to the safe in his office while speaking, "and up the emergency stairs to reception."

"She'll never open that door without power – it weighs a ton." Owen glanced at Jack, then went back to staring out the windows.

"It's balanced – she can move it," Jack said, handing the cylindrical capacitors to Tosh as well.

"I'm not leaving you here!" Tosh objected.

"Just do as I say, both of you. Once you're in reception, pull the panel next to the desk. Take circuit 357 from the main system and patch it to those – they should have just enough power for what we need. Once the main circuit goes live, get out. Meet us by the water tower."

"What about Jenny? Is she…"

Owen shook his head. "No, she's alive. Hurt, but alive. She's likely safer than we are right now, though. That thing said she wasn't compatible. As long as it doesn't get it in its head to scan her brainwaves, she should be fine where she is."

"Tosh! Go!" Jack gently, but firmly, pushed her towards the door, then turned to his medic. "You find anything that even resembles a weapon."

"What're you gonna do?"

"Buy you some more time. Go!" The Cyberwoman marched past the conference room doors just as Owen sprinted out. "Hey!" Jack shouted at her. "Lisa. It is Lisa, isn't it?" The Cyberwoman halted and turned to Jack, then marched into the room. "You've been hiding in my basement. That's okay. Draining my power," Jack maneuvered himself to keep the table between himself and the Cyberwoman, "I can live with that. But now you're starting to hurt my friends. This is gonna stop!" _What are you doing? This has got to be right on top of the list for 'stupidest stunts you've ever pulled'._ Jack pushed the thoughts away and ducked out of the room, hoping that he could keep the Cyberwoman distracted from his team.

He stopped when he reached the main level, waiting for the Cyberwoman to catch up. He didn't have long to wait. She marched away from the stairs and said, "This building belongs to me now. You will all be deleted."

A string of profanity – oddly not in Galactic Standard, not in Boeshanian, nor even in English, but _Latin_, of all things – flashed across Jack's brain. _This is gonna hurt._ He took a step in the Cyberwoman's direction. "I'm sorry for what they did to you, but this ends here." The Cyberwoman reached up and grabbed his shoulder.

Owen halted at Jack's scream, something in him cringing in both terror and macabre fascination at what the intruder was doing to his boss. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tosh open the gate surrounding the cogwheel door before pressing the alien-lockpick against the cog itself. "Come on, can't help him," Owen tried to convince his feet to move, but couldn't. The Cyberwoman let Jack drop and turned to march after Tosh.

Jack pushed himself up off of the ground. "That all you got?" he yelled at the Cyberwoman. "I'm not so easily deleted."

"How the _hell_…?" Owen wondered, but seeing the captain up and about managed to get his feet moving. He sprinted for the med-bay. A scream identical to the one from moments earlier told Owen that the intruder had tried to 'delete' Jack again.

_I hate electrocution,_ Jack managed one coherent thought before the second dose of 'deletion' had him blacking out. As he gasped his way back to consciousness, the thought continued, _but at least it never takes long to come back from it. _The familiar thrum of an overabundance of energy settled on him. _No physical damage to speak of, so either I go around reviving dead houseplants for a week or I figure out how to drain off the excess in one go._ He looked around and didn't see the Cyberwoman, though he could hear her marching off in the direction of the med-bay. _I hope Owen was right about Jenny being safe._

His eyes landed on Ianto. _Should work._ He pulled Jones out of the pool. Ianto wasn't breathing, but his pulse was still running – fast, like the heartbeat of a mouse – but still _there_. _I still reserve the right to shoot you if this all goes south,_ Jack thought, then poured off the excess energy into Ianto. He could feel the energy focus itself on repairing Ianto's crushed throat. Jack nudged the energy and Ianto gasped, waking. Jack quickly shushed him.

Back in the med-bay, Owen had grabbed a chisel from his autopsy kit and was backing his way around the circular room, trying to keep the Cyberwoman in front of him. He nearly tripped over the stairs as they hit the backs of his feet, but he didn't. Though Owen didn't particularly _want_ to, he turned around and sprinted up the stairs, across the walkway, and into the main Hub.

"You should be dead!" Owen said, coming to a halt behind Jack.

"I'm the stubborn type," Jack quipped, lighting Suzie's plasma-cutter. The Cyberwoman stomped her way into view, stopping when she saw Jack. "That's right, stay back," he ordered. "This'll at least give you heartburn."

"The fuel will run out. I can wait."

Ianto leaned towards Jack. "Help her, Jack. Give her a chance to surrender."

Owen blinked at him. "Have you not seen what she's _done_?"

"Let her stay in the cells. We have to reverse the process."

_And so much for reason managing to take the lead. Perhaps I should've shot him – it would've been kinder, if harder to explain to the others._ "Owen, hold him back."

Owen glanced down and realized they were practically on the invisible lift. He reached out and grabbed Ianto, pinning the taller man's arms to his sides while Jack grabbed a squeeze-bottle and sprayed its contents all over the Cyberwoman. He then turned off the plasma-cutter and dropped it, hopping on the lift with Ianto and Owen. "I'm sorry," he said, looking to Ianto as he raised his wrist and typed a quick command.

"You'll kill her!" Ianto yelled, trying to wriggle out of Owen's grasp. Jack lent a hand in keeping the Welshman on the platform. _Come on, Tosh. Hurry up._ Myfanwy screeched, then swooped out of her lair, arrowing straight for the Cyberwoman. "Let me go! You'll kill her! Let me help her!" Ianto redoubled his efforts to get away.

Jack was sorely tempted to knock him out, but knew it wouldn't do much good – Ianto, though he likely had no clue about it, was still flooded with the excess healing energy Jack had drained into him. "Hold still!" he ordered instead, knowing it wasn't likely to be obeyed. Thankfully, the lift began to rise and Ianto's sense of self-preservation kicked in; instead of physically struggling, he switched his efforts to words.

Jack tuned him out and waited for the lift to deposit them outside. _Okay, now what? Away and alive are both good and valid goals, but what do I do about the Cyber-freak in my house? _Myfanwy's screeching cut through his thoughts. _Sorry girl, but better you than my team. Have to figure out how to get Jenny out of there, too. Really, really hope Owen's right and that the Cyberwoman isn't interested._ The lift had almost reached the Plass when Jack was struck with an idea. _Oh, you're stupid sometimes, aren't you? _He took a steadying breath and closed his eyes. _:Jenny! You gotta wake up! Know it's gonna be painful, but I could really use your help right now. Wake up!:_

The lift ceased its upward movement and Tosh's voice called across the Plass, "It worked! What happened to –"

Ianto shrugged off Jack and Owen, spun in a tight circle, and punched Jack with all of his strength. "You could have saved her! You're worse than anything locked up down there," he shouted at Jack. Jack's brain reeled both from the punch and the sudden snapping of the telepathic connection to Jenny. Ianto continued his rant, "One day, I'll have the chance to save you and I'll watch you suffer and die!"

Jack wiped blood from his split lip and gathered his wits. "It was the only thing that would stop her!"

Tosh interrupted them both. "Listen! While I was in reception, I managed to trip the lockdown timer. The power should be coming back on any second – we can get back in."

Ianto wasted no time in sprinting for the tourist office.

* * *

Jenny was rushing things. Taking shortcuts. _But I have to. I can fix it later._ There was a _Cyberform_ in the Hub. She _had_ to rush. _Even though they don't like me, they can still upgrade Tosh. Dr. Gormless. Could they upgrade Jack? Would he be 'compatible'? Focus, Jenny – save the sick questions for later._

She managed to mitigate the potential nerve damage and had moved on to patching crushed blood vessels when Jack's voice blared across her mind.

_: Jenny! You gotta wake up! Know it's gonna be painful, but I could really use your help right now. Wake up!:_

She checked her work. _It'll do. It'll have to do. Come back to it later._ She opened her eyes to find they'd moved her to the medical bay. Looking down at herself, she saw that someone had splinted her arm, reduced the dislocation, and tied it at a diagonal across her chest. She also noticed that someone had hit her Second Skin with an EMP – it had reverted to 'factory default'.

_Owen. It had to have been Owen._ She could feel a cocktail of miscellaneous drugs coursing through her. _Don't seem to be doing any damage,_ she assessed, deciding not to take the time to figure out exactly what they were. _First things first_. Jenny grabbed her MPEA from it's holster on her belt, pausing to blink as her eyes adjusted to the sudden reintroduction of light. _Main power's back online_. She rebooted the MPEA, then instructed it to reset her Second Skin to its normal configuration – t-shirt neckline, long sleeves, and so on.

With that out of the way, she followed her ears and peeked out into the Hub – the Cyberwoman was fighting with a giant lizard-bird. _What the hell is that?_ She reached for her neutron pistol only to find it wasn't in her holster. _Damn! Must have dropped it._

While searching for a decent replacement weapon, the lizard-bird let out a growling high-pitched cry. The flutter of wings faded from the immediate vicinity. _One less possible threat to deal with_, Jenny thought, dismissing the mess of various tools Owen used during autopsies.

The sound of the cogwheel door flooded her with relief. _At last, a little backup._ Until she heard an unfamiliar woman's voice say, "Bloody hell. Ianto? Do you want these or not?" The distinctive sound of a Cyberform's footsteps preceded, then drowned out, a shrill scream.

Jenny peeked around the wall and spotted the Cyberform dragging a girl in jeans towards the stairs. She closed her eyes, took a breath, then resumed her search for a weapon. She'd just dismissed the possibility of using the plasma-cutter – it was too bulky with too short a reach – when the cogwheel door opened once more.

Ianto stepped through, slightly worse for wear from the last time she'd seen him. "Ianto!" she hurried over to him. "Are you alright? Where's everyone else?" She reached up with her good arm and gently moved his head to look at her. "Ianto!"

He blinked. "What?"

"What. Is. Going. On?"

"Lisa," he said, eyes drifting back to survey the debris scattered around the Hub. "She's not well – they, Jack. Doesn't understand."

Her injured arm made a valiant try to distract her by throbbing. She closed her eyes and shunted the pain-signals to a delay. _Not now_. "What?" she addressed Ianto. "Who's Lisa? What doesn't Jack understand?"

"She can be saved, I know it!" Ianto insisted.

Several things clicked into place. "Blessed Vot and her Sixteen Mistresses of Chaos," Jenny breathed. "No, Ianto – no." She took the gun he held loosely by his side and tucked it in her belt, then grabbed his wrist and tugged him over to a chair. He sat without seeming like he'd meant to. "Listen to me, Ianto, please. That Cyberform downstairs – is that Lisa?"

Ianto nodded. "It wasn't complete – there has to be a way to save her."

"That's what they _wanted_ you to think, Ianto. I saw them use the same tactic on Baetulin Nine. The Cyberforms found themselves on the losing side of a battle, so they created failsafe Cybers – they upgraded people, but left their faces exposed. Let the failsafes keep a simulation program for emotional manipulation, too. It was… Way more effective than it should have been. The two failsafes from Baetulin Nine were shipped to Xadriikash, to the hospital there – that hospital had a reputation as the absolute best for patients with mechanical issues, anything from rogue nanites to a malfunctioning neural implant to… Well, suffice it to say, they were the _best_. Two months after the Cyberform failsafes were admitted as patients, the hospital fell to a fresh wave of Cyberforms. Xadriikash was imploded three days later to stop them from spreading to neighboring planets. If the best efforts of the best hospital for ten galaxies in the year 6012 – that's _four thousand years in the future_ – couldn't help, what makes you think a society not even a hundred years from the discovery of basic antibiotics can do anything to help?"

"Why should I believe you?"

"I was on Baetulin Nine, Ianto – one of the failsafes they picked was my partner at the time, Sha'drik Tu Liskant. We were supposed to be retrieving the stolen plans for a new type of transmat – that's a teleportation device, by the way – but got caught with Cyberforms on one side, Judoon on another, and the Baetulins on the third."

"Daleks, Cybermen, and Torchwood," Ianto mumbled, his eyes shifting out of focus.

Jenny reached up and untied the bandages holding her left arm in place. Gingerly, not wanting to disturb the pain-shunt she'd placed on herself, she removed the splint. Next, she retrieved her MPEA and slid the input/output wireless transmission rod from its slot. "Hold this," she said, handing the MPEA itself to Ianto. He took it, but his eyes were still vague and distant. She punched a quick series of commands into it, then ran the rod around her left wrist, synching it to the Second Skin. As she trailed the rod up her arm, the sleeve retracted. When it met up with the neckline of her body-armor, the two melded, revealing her bruised and damaged shoulder and arm. She slid the rod back into its slot, took the MPEA, and returned it to her holster. "Look, Ianto."

By degrees, Ianto's eyes refocused and slid over to her. He winced at seeing the black handprint bruise above her elbow.

"Would your Lisa have done this to _anyone_?"

"No," Ianto croaked the word, closing his eyes.

"But she _did_. What does that tell you?"

Tears formed in his eyes. "No," he repeated, but Jenny could see he was starting to get it.

She handed him the gun back. "There's only one way to save her, Ianto."

His fingers closed around the gun and he nodded. He stood, then looked around the room. "Where –"

"Downstairs, to the room with the conversion unit, I would assume."

As if on cue, the lights overhead began to flicker. Ianto sprinted down the corridor to the stairs.

Jenny collapsed onto the chair Ianto had just vacated, her pain-shunt disintegrating. Sweat popped into beads on her forehead. Breathing through her teeth, she attempted to re-shunt the nerves, closing her eyes to shut out unnecessary distraction.

A clatter of footsteps interrupted her concentration. "Jenny! You alright?" Jack's voice was both welcome and irritating.

"Been better," she replied through clenched teeth.

"Owen."

"Downstairs," Jenny managed. "Ianto – the Cyberform. Downstairs."

Two pairs of feet hurried away while Owen knelt next to her. "Come on, Blondie – let's get you patched up."

Over the course of the next five minutes, Owen worked with significant input from Jenny to mix a more effective painkiller from the various chemicals he had on hand. He was just about to inject it when a single gunshot, muted by distance, echoed up from the direction of the stairs. Owen glanced in the direction it came from, but quickly returned to his patient.

Once the syringe was empty, Jenny laid back on the table and waited for it to kick in. "'I pray you, in your letters, when you shall these unlucky deeds relate, speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice: then, must you speak of one that lov'd not wisely but too well.'"

"What're you on about?"

"_Othello, the Moor of Venice_," Jenny replied. "Act five, scene two. It's from Othello's monologue before he kills himself."

"Ianto?"

Jenny nodded.

Owen scoffed. "If he's anyone from that play, I woulda said Iago. Manipulative little shit."

"Nope. That would be the Cyberform. Lisa, of course, was Desdemona." She turned her head to look at the doctor. "Surprised you know it well enough to cast the characters at all – even if you are wrong in who fulfilled which roles."

"Required reading," he replied. "Fifth form, I think. We went over that one, Hamlet, and Julius Caesar. Hated all three."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Jenny asked, rhetorically. She closed her eyes to forestall any further argument. After a couple of measured breaths, she slipped back into her interrupted healing trance.

* * *

An hour after the Cyberwoman was no longer a threat, Ianto sat on the sofa underneath the _Torchwood_ painted on the white brick wall. He wasn't doing anything, just breathing. Not thinking, not processing, not even quietly panicking. Just sitting. Staring into the middle distance, but not at any one thing in particular. Some level of himself not wrapped up in wondering why he suddenly felt scooped hollow was aware he likely was in some form of shock. He couldn't even remember how he came to be on the sofa in the first place.

"Jones," Jack's voice cut through his numbness, making him startle slightly. "My office."

Ianto had never heard that particular tone of voice from their resident leader before. _Commanding, certainly, but there's something else there… Not flirtiness, not this time. Something else I can't place. Disappointment? Perhaps, but it doesn't sound like Dad used to. Something…_ He looked down and found his feet had carried him to the doorway of Jack's office.

"Sit," Jack ordered, indicating the small armchair that normally took up a corner and supported a stack of unsorted files. Jack had moved it to sit facing his desk. The man himself was leaning against the desk.

Still functioning on autopilot, Ianto crossed the room and perched on the edge of the ugly old armchair. Jack shifted, revealing the cut-glass decanter of expensive Scotch whiskey that typically lived, untouched, in the liquor cabinet. One of the matching tumblers was polished to a sparkling finish and sitting next to it. Realization dawned and panic finally wormed its way into being; his heart began thundering loudly in his ears and he could feel a cold sweat prickle between his skin and the cotton and wool armor he habitually wore. "No," he breathed, his voice almost completely powerless.

Jack frowned as he poured a splash of the honey-colored liquor into the glass. "No?"

"Don't make me forget," Ianto managed, his voice cracking horribly on the last word as his throat seized. He looked through blurry eyes up at the man he'd attempted to deceive. "Don't make me forget her. Please." His voice gained a little strength even as the rest of him seemed to suddenly dissolve into nerveless goo. "_Please_."

Understanding crossed his boss' face and it seemed to Ianto that Jack would have cracked a smile had the situation been any less dire. "No," he said, returning the stopper to its place. "Not gonna retcon you." He took a small sip from the glass, then pressed it into Ianto's hands. "See? Just some really good booze."

His hands were shaking badly enough it took both of them to keep from dropping the glass. "Why?" was all he could manage.

Jack sighed and returned to leaning against the desk. "Because you set it right. Because you loved her."

Some of the confusion Ianto felt at that must have managed to fight its way through the panic to show on his face. "Sir?"

Jack cleared his throat, then ran a hand through his hair. Ianto recognized Jack's stalling tactics, but further knew that since he'd called this meeting, all he need do was wait for him to work around to what he wanted to say. After nearly five minutes, during which a small portion of Ianto's panic managed to fade – enough that he no longer threatened the longevity of the glass tumbler – Jack finally spoke. "About a hundred years ago," he started, his tone falling somewhere short of the usual stories he bandied about, "I was married. Did you know that?"

Ianto couldn't speak, so he just shook his head a fraction. _Married? Jack? Jack Harkness, king of meaningless one-night stands? Married?_ The word didn't belong within a fifty-mile radius of the man Ianto had come to know during his tenure at Torchwood Three. The timeframe Ianto simply chalked up to typical Jack-style hyperbole.

"Matilda," Jack said the name with a level of reverence that was more than just a little out of place in his voice. "Tilly, to her friends." Jack's eyes drifted to a point somewhere over Ianto's shoulder. "She was beautiful. Smart. Funny. More than a little bossy, too. Way ahead of her time."

As Jack paused, obviously remembering the woman, Ianto saw a still, small, sad smile flicker into and out of existence. He lifted the glass and took a small sip – it tasted like blood. He honestly didn't know what to say, so he simply continued to wait.

"I loved her more than I'd ever dreamed possible," Jack eventually said, his gaze darting back to Ianto. "But… she died. Nothing I could do helped. And I would give anything – _anything_ – for one more day with her." Leaning a bit more of his weight against the desk, Jack crossed his arms over his chest. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. On opening his eyes once more, he all but pinned Ianto to his seat with the weight of his gaze alone. "You do stupid stuff when someone you love dies, or is about to die. I understand that – I've been there."

A tendril of hope blossomed into being. Despite Ianto's best efforts, it refused to go away. He took another small sip of the whiskey, letting its illusion of heat attempt to warm him.

"However," Jack's voice edged away from nostalgia and towards what Ianto had privately labeled 'disobey and die' command-tone, "though I understand your motives for hiding her, if you _ever_ do anything even a _fraction_ of that _monumentally stupid_ again, you needn't fear retcon – I'll personally put a bullet between your eyes. I won't even hesitate. And just so we're clear, in this case, it wasn't you trying to save your girlfriend that was so stupid. It's not even that you thought she could _be_ saved. No, what I'm talking about here is that you _hid it from me_." Throughout the entire tongue-lashing, Jack didn't raise his voice even a half-decibel. He didn't need to. "Understood?"

Ianto swallowed hard. "Yes, sir," he managed, though only just barely.

A bit of the intimidation Jack had so easily donned – like some incorporeal version of his greatcoat – faded. He uncrossed his arms and rested his palms against the desk's edge. "Now, as to the irritating bit of leadership. Punishment."

Ianto straightened. He could feel that damn tremor wanting to start back up, but he counted his breaths and pushed it away by sheer force of will. "Yes, sir."

"I don't dare suspend you – the entire team would fall apart inside the first six hours without decent coffee," a hint of Jack's normal level of humor infused the statement. Had Ianto's emotions been functioning properly, he might've managed an inward smile. "So… Since I can't be rid of you – even temporarily – without needing to have Owen stock up on painkillers for the inevitable caffeine withdrawal, I've decided you're stuck here."

Ianto shook his head. _Can't have heard that properly._ "Sir?"

"You're stuck here," Jack repeated. "Until I say you can go home. In addition to your regular duties, I've drawn up a list. I know how much you seem to like those." Jack handed him a sheet of yellow paper torn from an A4 pad. "You have six hours, beginning now, to rest. Use the sofa, or go down and sleep on that camp bed you've got stashed in the archives."

Ianto downed the remains of the Scotch in his tumbler and stood. He handed the tumbler back to Jack, then said, "Yes, sir. Is that all?"

Jack nodded and Ianto turned to leave. As he reached the door, Jack called out, "Ianto." Ianto turned to look at him. "I'd never make you forget her," he all but whispered. Ianto didn't know how to reply to that, so he didn't; he simply let his feet carry him down to the storage room next to the main archives where he'd set up an uncomfortable place to sleep on those nights he couldn't leave Lisa.

Jack waited until he was certain Ianto was well out of hearing distance before he sighed, then loudly said, "Owen – you can quit eavesdropping."

Owen shuffled into sight, a grimace of a smile on his face. "Just thought you'd like to know that Jenny should be fine."

"Good," Jack said, relief leaking into his posture.

"Why'd you let him off like that?" Owen asked, confirming Jack's suspicion that the medic had only heard the 'punishment' portion of his conversation with Ianto.

"He's gonna wind up punishing himself way more than I ever could," Jack replied.

"Should I prep a drawer?" Certainly, it wasn't a very tactful question, but Owen wasn't known for his tact.

Jack shook his head. "I don't think so. If he survives the next couple of weeks, I'm pretty sure he won't need one," Jack knew Owen was all but outright asking if he thought Ianto was likely to kill himself. "Maybe if it had killed one of us, or if Myfanwy hadn't survived. As it is, he just needs a distraction until it scabs over."

"Will it scab over?" Owen wondered, then shook his head. "No, I don't want to know. You gave him a bunch of makework, didn't you?" he asked instead, not able to help but draw parallels to his own first weeks at Torchwood.

"Hey," Jack forced a small grin onto his face. "You can't argue that it works."

Owen frowned. "God save us all from the Jack Harkness school of dealing with grief."

"It's not like he can talk to a therapist, you know," Jack defended his decision. "Not with what we do. It'd be too hard to talk around all the bits and pieces he simply _can't_ reveal. No therapist worth anything would let that sort of avoidance slide."

"No," Owen agreed. "I know. Maybe you should hire one. Not one of us is what they'd call mentally stable."

"Think that part's in the job description. A little insanity's necessary to do what we do."

"Anyway," Owen changed the subject. "Like I said, I'm pretty sure Jenny's gonna be fine. She's doing that trace-thing again and should wake on her own, though I don't know when."

"I'll keep an eye on her tonight," Jack said. "You head on home. If you see Tosh, tell her to go, too. We'll see about cleaning up the mess in the morning."

"What about you?" Owen asked, finally approaching the topic he wanted to discuss.

"What about me?" Jack picked up the decanter of Scotch and returned it to the liquor cabinet.

"You alright? That thing shocked the hell outta you – literally, I mean, though I suppose it might've been figurative, too."

Jack let out a small chuckle. "Yeah, that's a pretty good description. Never expected to find a Cyberman in my own house." He closed the doors of the liquor cabinet and turned to face his medic. "I'm fine, Owen. Actually, I'm pretty sure that her weapons system was one of the ones that hadn't been fully integrated. Stung like hell, yeah, but no worse than getting zapped by a faulty light switch."

"You were unconscious, Jack. That's not something to simply shake off."

"Owen, listen to me: I. Am. Fine. If I feel anything out of the ordinary, I'll call you. Promise." Jack had adopted the no-nonsense attitude that told Owen he wasn't about to budge.

Owen sighed in frustration. "Is it doctors in general, or just me?" he grumbled.

"Go home, Harper," Jack ordered, leaving absolutely no room for any other interpretation. "See you in the morning. Don't come in before nine."

Owen decided to let the argument – not that it really qualified as such – lie. "Fine," he said. "See you tomorrow." _One of these days, Jack, you're gonna wind up needing me yourself, and I'm gonna wind up botching something because you haven't let me do so much as type your damn blood._

Once Owen was gone, Jack returned the hideous armchair to its place in the corner, then flopped onto it. _All told, today could have gone horribly, horribly wrong. However, nobody was killed. Against a Cyberman, that's something worth celebrating. Too bad I don't have the energy. Dying twice within ten minutes sucks the life right out of me._ A tiny smirk toyed with the edges of his face at the pun. _I'll go down and check on Jenny in a minute._ He yawned and closed his eyes. _In a minute…_

Less than a minute later, soft snores filled his office.

* * *

**A/N2:** I really liked toying with this episode – almost enough to want to make a series of AUs for my AU, exploring other options. But I'm not going to – this is enough work (along with my other WIPs) for now.

Kindly lemme know if y'all are enjoying this or not. Thanks in advance.


	8. Four

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'Torchwood'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** Though I worked hard to figure out a timeline that made some form of sense for the episode, 'Small Worlds' gave me fits – if the original airdates were supposed to be a rough 'when' for the events portrayed therein, then this episode seems to be rather out-of-order, what with warm weather and green leaves and so on. I know that the climate of the UK doesn't exactly match the climate in which I grew up, but I would have figured that the temperature and such would have been on the downhill slide towards winter during the second week of November. Ergo, this episode will come much later in my AU story arc. In its place… Well, I'm not just skipping straight to 'Countrycide'. I hope the next few chapters are up to par. Enjoy!

* * *

**Synchronicity**

_Chapter Eight: Four_

_10 November, 2006  
09:15_

Tosh entered one more string of equations and then told the computer to run a series of simulations. Relaxing back in her chair, she looked over the Hub. It had mostly been put to rights over the course of the last few days; actually, the only real evidence remaining of the damage the Cyber-thing had done could only be found in the order of how specific piles of whatnot were stacked. "Hey, you seen the connection cable for that mini-chromatograph?" Owen interrupted her musing.

Tosh sighed internally. "No. But it's just a micro-USB. There should be a whole box of cables in storeroom C." She saw their medic mouth 'micro-USB' with a small look of confusion. This time, she sighed out loud. "It's got a connection on one end that matches the charging port on your mobile phone, Owen."

Comprehension dawned and he brushed passed her to go find the cable he needed. "Honestly," Tosh grumbled to herself. "It's not exactly difficult; even my _mother_ knew the differences. Yet, he can't seem to keep them straight." She wondered for what had to be the millionth time in her life if human memory was finite – Owen was truly a brilliant doctor, able to recall even the most obscure facts about human anatomy, and was exceptional when it came to analyzing the effects of extraterrestrial chemicals, diseases, and radiation. But ask him a simple question regarding even elementary-level technology and the most common result would be a blank stare – or possibly a sarcastic quip about not needing to know _how_ it works, so long as it worked, _full-stop_.

Her computer let out a squawking noise and she startled. Turning her attention to it, she found it had completed running the simulations she'd told it to work on. While trying to figure out why it had _squawked_ like a strangled chicken, it let out a lowing moo, concurrent with the small pop-up that told her she'd received an email. "Who changed the sound settings on my computer!" Tosh yelled, extremely irritated.

Jenny strolled up, carrying a small cylinder that was approximately eighteen inches long and three inches thick, rounded on either end. She also had a guilty look on her face. "Um… Sorry?" she admitted with a completely unconvincing smile. "I really didn't mean to – I was checking that little blue tweedle-gadget from the backlog, and it changed itself. I'm pretty sure the thingamajig I was checking is what did it."

"Why didn't you change the settings back?" Tosh asked, resisting the urge to groan and bury her face in her hands.

"Tried," Jenny said, setting the cylinder of silvery-green metal on the corner of Tosh's workstation. "I thought I had."

Tosh adjusted her reading glasses and accessed her terminal's default settings. Thirty seconds later, she growled – literally _growled_ – and then let out a string of words that even Jenny's advanced hearing had difficulty separating. "It's overwritten all of my system sound files!"

Jenny pulled a chair over and sat down. "Then recopy them from one of the other terminals," she sensibly suggested. "Or get used to them."

"I'm _trying_. Whatever it did, it _locked the damn files_. They _can't_ be overwritten!"

Tosh's computer let out a more insistent-sounding moo, reminding her she had an email waiting. Twitching slightly, Tosh opened her email. It was a request from UNIT for her opinion on a particular bit of technology they were developing – a containment field based on the 'portable cell' that had come through the rift roughly ten years previously. "Get that thing back here," Tosh ground out. "I need to see if I can convince it to reverse what it did."

Jenny did as she asked and retrieved the 'thingamajig' from her own workstation. She then headed to the tech-backlog in storeroom F. Once safely inside, she leaned against the wall and giggled insanely. _I wonder how long she's gonna fiddle with that thing before realizing it's just a battery?_ She took a moment to compose herself, then returned to the Hub to check on her other 'special projects'.

Owen had located a replacement cable and was finishing up reconnecting the miniature chromatograph to the computers in the med-bay. He held up the cable he'd replaced and frowned at it, then shook his head and coiled it up. Jenny ambled over. "Problems?" she asked.

Owen shrugged. "Not really. Can a computer cable shrink?" he asked, a vague sort of confusion still suffusing his face.

"Not that I know of, not unless it's organic and not getting enough nutrients," Jenny replied. "In that case, though, it's not that it shrinks – it atrophies."

She moved on to the kitchen before Owen could reply. This particular 'project' had been far more difficult than the others – she'd had to visit over a dozen specialty shops before locating _just_ the right blend. Ianto was fiddling with the coffee machine, cleaning it. "Morning," she greeted him.

"Yes, it is," Ianto muttered distractedly, vertical frown-lines furrowed between his eyebrows. He scrubbed a little harder at the chromed surface he was cleaning.

"You doing alright?" she asked.

He paused in his scrubbing and shrugged. "Splitting headache," he eventually said, then returned to his chore.

Jenny reached over and gently laid a hand on his arm. "Maybe you should get some paracetamol from Owen?"

"Already took some," he snapped. "Haven't worked yet."

"Sheesh, sorry. Next time, I'll keep my concern to myself." She turned and headed back to her workstation. _Maybe replacing the coffee with an identical flavor of de-caf wasn't as good an idea as I'd thought. But really, they all drink _way_ too much caffeine._ She pulled her chair over, chewing on the inside of her lip to keep from laughing at Tosh's ongoing muttering at her computer, and set up a diagnostic on the Krestalyn storage cylinder she'd located.

She checked the clock in the corner of her computer screen. _Jack should be leaving soon. Didn't I hear Ianto reminding him that his appointment is for seventeen-hundred? _Their fearless leader had been summoned to London for the 127th annual review of Torchwood; he'd be gone until late Sunday night. Jenny did some quick mental calculations. _Well, maybe not. It's not that long of a drive to London. Is he driving? Or taking the train?_ She decided it didn't matter, and returned to her work. _This is taking longer than I thought,_ Jenny sighed and left the computer to finish running its tests. She picked up her recently-acquired backpack and rummaged around in it, making sure she had everything she'd need. _Six packets of cherry drink powder encapsulated in gelatin, check. Similar capsule filled with vinegar, check. Tube of wasabi, check. Fume-free clear nail polish, check._ _Should I add some quick-dry glue? Nah, save the glue-based ideas for later. Is it truly evil for me to hope that the rift stays quiet until just after he finishes his shower Monday morning?_ She managed to contain her maniacal laughter, but only just.

* * *

_10 November, 1976  
09:15_

"Declan?" Campbell ducked his head into his second's office. "I need you to oversee the test on that whachamacallit today."

Declan McGrath looked up from the stack of mail he'd been leafing through. "Why? Thought you were looking forward to it."

"It's the wife's birthday." Malcolm Campbell ran a hand through his thinning salt-and-pepper hair. "I sorta forgot about it until Brigit just reminded me – I'd promised Caroline I'd take her to that new French place down by the waterfront."

"Ah," Declan grimaced. "So you're gonna be on the phone all day trying to bribe your way in."

"Exactly," Malcolm replied, then sighed. "One of these days, I'm going to remember crap like this without needing to rely on Brigit."

"And that'll be the day I start looking for other signs of the apocalypse," Declan joked, tossing his mail back into his in-box. It could all wait until later.

"Anyway, would you?"

Declan shrugged. "No problem. I'll bring you the film on it as soon as it's developed."

Campbell shook his head. "No rush. In the eternal scales of balance between disappointing myself or disappointing Caroline, I'd rather it be me every time. Tomorrow'll be soon enough on the film." With that, Malcolm retreated to his own office.

Declan spent the next three hours dealing with various details that, despite three post-graduate degrees, Malcolm _always_ managed to screw up – including the payroll – and then paged Noreen, Torchwood Belfast's errand-girl. "Sir?" her voice echoed back through the intercom.

"Run out and bring back lunch, would you? Something simple today – sandwiches would be fine."

"Sir." Declan could detect a note of annoyance in the girl's voice. _If you don't like running errands, why on Earth did you take the position? It's not like you weren't told ahead of time just what the job would entail._ Shaking his head, he finished up the last of the paperwork, then headed downstairs to the lab.

Teresa Maguire met him at the door. "Campbell had better hurry – we're just about to start the first test."

"Sorry, he sent me in his stead. Personal life collision," he explained to the frighteningly-brilliant lead researcher. _Strike that – Dr. Maguire is frightening, end of story._

Teresa rolled her eyes. "Figures. Did he never stop to wonder why, of all of us who work here, the only other one who's married is Mrs. Brannigan, the cleaning lady?"

"I don't think 'conflicts with work' is actually something he considered before marrying, Teresa. Besides, we've all heard your opinions on the 'outmoded institute of legalized slavery' before – I really don't want to get into it again." Declan looked past her to the 'whachamacallit'. It was roughly pyramidal in shape, two feet to a side on its base, and rising to a height of approximately five feet. It was made of an odd sort of metal, bluish-green with a rainbow-like shimmer, and emitted massive electrical readings. Theories abounded on just what it was. Teresa thought it to be some sort of electrical generator. Declan thought it more likely a battery. _It doesn't matter – we'll find out what it is soon enough._ "How long should this first test take? Noreen should be back within an hour or so with lunch."

"Twenty minutes," Teresa replied. She turned to face the object. Her team, working in tandem with Sean Joyce's team of physicists, were finalizing the last of the setup work.

John McMillian – one of Teresa's researchers – made a note on a clipboard, then said something Declan couldn't hear. The four other scientists backed away from the object. Connor O'Sullivan walked to a tripod in the corner that supported a camera. He set the film rolling, and Teresa strode over. She stopped directly in front of the camera, glanced at her watch, and said, "It is Wednesday, the tenth of November, 1976. The time is 12:19. Commencing first test on Object-B297."

Stepping out of the way of the camera, she nodded to Joyce. The physicist stood next to a large bank of computer controls, on which he flipped a series of switches. The tape recorders on the computers began spinning. "Engaging in three," his hand hovered over a single backlit button, "two, one. Engage." He hit the button.

The world exploded.

* * *

_10 November, 2006  
12:37_

Jack checked to make sure he had everything he'd need, then shrugged into his coat. He picked up the battered valise that had served him faithfully since the early '30s, and headed for the door. He got as far as the cogwheel when Ianto's voice halted him, "Sir! Phone call – sounds urgent."

"Take a message!" Jack yelled. "I'm gonna miss my train."

"You're gonna want to take this, sir," Ianto insisted. "He claims he's Malcolm Campbell, of Torchwood Belfast."

"No way," Jack said. He'd always firmly believed they'd find Torchwood Four eventually, but to simply have them call up out of the blue? He dropped his valise and sprinted back up the stairs to his office. "Harkness, Torchwood Cardiff," he said, picking up the receiver.

"Jack?" a familiar Irish accent drifted through the line. "Thank bloody Christ – I was about to give up hope! Blasted number for London keeps ringing through to a damn primary school. I know we're not high on the list of priorities, but you'd think they'd damn well _tell_ us when they change a phone number! Listen – Andrew there? We've got problems."

Andrew Holcolm had been Torchwood Three's leader for only eighteen months, from June 1975 through December of 1976. He was one of the very few Torchwood leaders to ever successfully retire – Jack had always chalked the man's success up to the fact that he'd immediately moved to Alaska on his retirement. Jack shook his head, dispelling the side-trip down memory lane. "Malcolm? Andrew's not here," he decided to figure out what was going on before committing himself to trying to explain just _why_ Andrew was out-of-reach. "What's going on?"

"Surprised to get _you_," Malcolm replied, sounding somewhat dazed. "Thought you were off playing house with that Italian girl – what was her name? Linda? Lissa? Lucia?"

"Malcolm! Focus! What's going on?" Jack felt a little off-kilter himself at the mention of Lucia.

"Bloody researchers, that's what! Damn thing they were working on _exploded_. I got four dead scientists, one burned badly enough that O'Kelly doesn't think he'll make it to hospital, and one with more broken bones than I can count. And Declan – he didn't make it. Was overseeing the test for me…"

It was obvious that Malcolm had absolutely no idea it had been thirty years since the Torchwood outpost in Belfast had dropped off the radar. "Malcolm, sit tight. I'll get some help out your direction within the hour. How's the building itself?"

"Still standing, but it went into lockdown. Until we can get the power back up, we're stuck here."

_Good, _Jack thought. "Sit tight," he repeated. "I'll call you back in about ten minutes."

He hung up the phone and took one of his ten minutes to simply blink and breathe. "Ianto!" he shouted. "Get hold of UNIT – have them send a rescue team to the Belfast branch – there was an explosion of some sort. At least two injured, at least five dead. Maximum containment. Have them bring the survivors here." Not waiting for Ianto to acknowledge the order, Jack strode out to the walkway. "Owen! You're gonna have a couple of patients in about two or three hours – one with broken bones, the other with burns."

Returning to his office, he immediately called his five o'clock appointment and explained the situation. The review was easily rescheduled. With two minutes remaining on his timeframe, Ianto appeared in the doorway. "UNIT will have a team there within half an hour."

* * *

Brigit had been drafted as a makeshift nurse as soon as the severity of the situation had become clear. She was following Eva's orders to the letter, while Eva herself tended to O'Sullivan. Dr. O'Kelly was busy keeping Sean Joyce alive. The rest of the survivors were in varying states of shock, or so Malcolm thought – _myself included_ – though the engineering triad were laying out the bodies of their fallen coworkers and covering them with an assortment of fire blankets and lab coats.

He checked his watch again. _Any minute now._ Almost as though the thought had caused it, the building's power cycled back up. "Down here!" he shouted from the bottom of the stairs. Moments later, a group of about fifteen soldiers, all wearing gas-masks that obscured their faces, appeared. The one in charge – slightly shorter than average – approached Malcolm. "Dr. Malcolm Campbell?" the sexless voice asked.

"Yes," Malcolm replied. "That's me."

"We are UNIT – we have orders to secure the building and take you and your people to Torchwood Three in Cardiff. I was told you have injured?"

"Connor O'Sullivan and Sean Joyce," Malcolm said, nodding. He stepped out of the way as the soldiers took control. Less than ten minutes later, he was riding in a UNIT airplane with the rest of the survivors of Torchwood Four.

Another hour later, and he saw a familiar face standing next to a large, boxy trucklike thing parked on the airport tarmac. Jack strode over as the UNIT soldiers split the group into different vehicles. "I'm taking you back to T3," Jack said without preamble. "Be easiest to go over what needs said there. I've got UNIT working back in Belfast, they'll let me know what they find. Do you have any idea what they were working on?"

Malcolm had to blink in surprise at his old friend. The last time they'd spoken, Jack had _nothing_ good to say about UNIT, Torchwood, or anyone even remotely associated with either organization, save for a small handful of his personal friends. "Object-B297 is all I know it by. They had a pool going on what it would wind up being," he replied.

Jack walked him over to the car he'd been standing next to and motioned for Malcolm to get in. "Tosh – look up the T4 gadget list, see if there's an entry for 'Object-B297'," Malcolm heard on entering the vehicle. He gazed around himself in disbelief.

"Jack?" he said, his brain drawing conclusions he wasn't quite prepared to accept.

Jack started the car and held up a 'wait a minute' finger. "Okay, how about the records from T1?" He waited in silence a moment, then sighed. "It was a good idea. Check in with UNIT. My running theory's some sort of time-dilation field or pocket-dimension generator. Let me know." He fiddled with his right ear and his hand came away with a small piece of unfamiliar technology – Malcolm thought it looked rather sleek and not unlike some of the alien-tech he'd seen go through the lab. Jack flicked a small switch and the blue light on it went out.

"How long?" Malcolm asked.

Jack sighed and shifted the car into drive. "Thirty years. Exactly."

"Thirty years," Malcolm parroted.

Jack nodded and lead a short chain of vehicles off of airport property and into traffic. "Thirty years ago, Torchwood Four simply disappeared. It was called in to London by Noreen Moore. T1 sent a team, but absolutely no trace of the Belfast branch remained – it was like the surrounding buildings just edged over, like the footprint of the building you all used had just been erased from existence."

"Bloody hell," Malcolm breathed. After a solid minute of simply staring out the car's windows, he eventually said, "Thirty _years_. So… It's 2006."

"Yeah," Jack replied, making a sharp turn, and then checking the rear-view mirror to make sure the UNIT idiots were following him. Straightening the wheel, he glanced at Malcolm. "I kept in touch with Caroline."

Malcolm winced. "It's her birthday. Some present," he muttered, mostly to himself.

"She understood… eventually," Jack replied. "But not before decking the poor sap from London who'd had to go tell her you'd disappeared."

"Is she… I mean, I know it's been a long time, even if I can't quite wrap my head around it just yet. But is she…" Malcolm was getting rambly, a sure sign to Jack that the day's events were beginning to sink in.

Sighing a little, Jack shook his head. "Sorry, Mal – Caroline passed away two years ago. Cancer."

"Christ," Malcolm seemed to fold in on himself. Jack maintained the stifling silence until he parked the SUV. As the UNIT vehicles pulled to a stop in neighboring spaces, he watched Malcolm visibly pull himself together. "Well, then," Malcolm said.

Jack nodded. "Yeah. Let's get this mess sorted."

* * *

Jenny had tried to help Owen and Tosh set up for the injured people Jack had mentioned, but Owen ran her off. Instead, she worked with Ianto to get additional chairs brought up to the conference room, and then lent a hand in getting lunch set up for everybody – not that setting up for pizza and fizzy drinks was all that complicated, but she hoped Ianto appreciated the help.

About two minutes after they'd finished, the cogwheel door alarm went off as it rolled open. Jenny strolled over to the windows and looked down. Owen and Tosh hurried over. Jack, carrying one end of a stretcher, came through first. Jenny grimaced – the person on the stretcher was barely identifiable as such. A UNIT uniform carried its other end. Right behind them, another pair of UNIT soldiers carried a second stretcher. Owen led them to the med-bay. Jack said something to Tosh in passing, but Jenny couldn't hear what it was. Tosh nodded and sprinted through the cog.

A short wait later, and Jack retreated to wait next to the gate surrounding their main access. Tosh returned, leading a group of people that looked like they'd stepped out of the pages of one of Jenny's history books – _The one about the events that led to the end of the Cold War, I believe_ – though a bit worse for wear. Two of them, an extremely tall older man with his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows and a sturdily-built redheaded woman wearing an old-fashioned nurse's dress, stopped and asked Jack a question. Jack shook his head, and gestured for them to go with Tosh and the other refugees. The tall man looked like he wanted to argue, but didn't. The UNIT soldiers returned from the med-bay and exchanged some words with Jack, before Jack herded them out the door.

"Welcome to Torchwood Cardiff," Ianto greeted the group Tosh showed into the conference room. "Please, have a seat and help yourself to drinks and food. I'm Ianto Jones." He gestured to Tosh. "This is Toshiko Sato." And then to Jenny. "And Jenny Thomas. Our medic, Dr. Owen Harper, is currently tending to your wounded. Is anyone else in need of his services?"

"No," the tall guy replied, anger underscoring his voice. "I'm Liam O'Kelly, M.D. The few remaining injuries are some bruises, cuts, and scrapes. Nothing life-threatening."

A shorter man – barely six inches taller than Jenny herself – but with thinning salt-and-pepper hair and horn-rimmed glasses laid a hand on O'Kelly's elbow. "Liam, don't be an arse."

The doctor looked down at the speaker and frowned. "I don't understand why this Harper fellow is refusing assistance."

Jenny was suddenly struck by the fact that O'Kelly looked enough like David Morse, the actor from The Green Mile, to have been the man's Irish-accented long-lost twin. "Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, but," she said, drawing his attention, "could it be that it's because your medical training is thirty years out-of-date at this point? And though I'm sure you are a very capable medical officer – Torchwood wouldn't have hired you otherwise – you aren't checked out on the technology Owen tends to use?" She smiled sweetly at the man. "By Vot, I simply tried helping him set up for your arrival, and he nearly bit my head off when I picked up the Lestarkan scanner to move it across the room! He can be a _bit_ territorial."

Liam scowled and brushed past her, heading for the last empty chair at the conference table. The shorter man with the glasses shook his head and sighed. "Don't take it personally, miss," he said. "Liam's… Liam. He's always been like that."

Jenny shrugged, "I won't. It's not like _I _have to work with him. And call me Jenny, please."

"I'm Malcolm Campbell, supposed leader of Torchwood Belfast – though I've no idea if the title is still relevant."

"Why wouldn't it be?" Jenny asked. "It's not like what happened to T1 in London – you might have suffered some casualties and I'm sure your base needs some work, especially on the bringing-it-up-to-date end of the spectrum, but you've still got more than half your people."

"What happened to London?" Malcolm asked.

"We'll get to that later," Jack interrupted from the doorway. He'd removed his greatcoat, and was fiddling with his Vortex Manipulator as he leaned against the door frame. Finished with whatever he'd been doing, he looked around the conference room. Jenny wasn't sure what he saw, but there was a tight line tracing its way from the outer corner of his right eye back towards his ear. The low-level muttering among the group died out as he spoke. "First – introductions. Malcolm, you go first."

"Your Mr. Jones already introduced your team, Jack," Malcolm replied. "But, for those of you who don't know, this," he gestured to Jack, "is the infamous Captain Jack Harkness." He favored the curvy brunette wearing outdated business casual with a sad smile, "Yes, Brigit, _that_ Captain Harkness." He turned a warning eyebrow to Jack. "And you – hands off my people."

Letting out a small laugh, Jack held his hands up. "Hey! Would I do that?"

"Yes," Malcolm replied. "I know you, Jack, and yes, you would."

The entire group smiled at that. Jenny figured that if they hadn't all met the captain, then they had all likely heard stories at some point. Brigit – the secretarial type Malcolm had smiled at – was the only one who let out a desperate-sounding twitter of a laugh.

"Anyway – introductions," he went on to give his own name and position as T4's leader, though he didn't express his lingering doubt as to the accuracy of the title again. "This," he stepped over and rested his palms on Brigit's shoulders, "is Brigit Doyle, my secretary." He nodded at Liam, "Dr. Liam O'Kelly, our medical officer." A small flick of his fingers indicated the sturdy redhead sitting to Liam's left. "Eva Flynn, his nurse." A group of three sat clustered around the far end of the table. The one on the far right was a curly-haired brunette, all angles and sharp corners, with a vaguely androgynous cast to her face, and was introduced as 'Deirdre McNamara'. The one in the middle was rather overweight, bald, and had the kind of face that lent itself to smiling, regardless of his actual emotional state. His name was 'Kieran McEvoy'. 'Teague Cullen' was an average-looking guy, hitting exact averages for facial structure, build, and coloring for the UK. Jenny wondered if he'd ever managed to be remembered in any way by people who passed him on the street. The last member of Malcolm's team was 'Mary Brannigan', a somewhat dumpy-looking woman in her mid-fifties, who was ignoring everyone while staring at her wedding ring and twisting it endlessly around her finger.

"Okay," Jack said once the introductions were complete. "Our situation is this: Thirty years ago, Noreen Moore returned from a lunch-run to find that Torchwood Belfast had been erased from the map," he hit a series of buttons on his wrist-strap, and the lights dimmed. The flatscreen at the end of the room powered up to show a photograph of part of a Belfast street. On the left side was an old petrol station, on the right was what appeared to be a junk-shop or pawn shop of sorts. The space between the two businesses was a little wider than was customary for city building, but not excessively so. "T4's building _should_ have been right there in the middle, posing as a law office. Torchwood London sent out a team to investigate, but they found _nothing_. No energy readings, not one single sign of what happened."

Jenny helped herself to a slice of pizza and leaned against the wall. _Interesting,_ she thought, chewing on her lunch.

"Jump forwards to today, and this is what UNIT found," Jack hit a button and the photograph changed. The petrol station was gone, a car park in its place. The junk-shop remained, though it now sported wire-mesh in the windows and a steel roller-door as security. Graffiti covered much of the side of the junk-shop's brick wall. Between the car park and the shop was a small one-story building, it's 1960s architecture blatantly apparent.

"Now, flipping to your point-of-view, I believe you didn't experience any sort of strangeness, other than the explosion, correct?" Jack asked, looking to their guests.

"No," Malcolm said. "Just a typical day, I think." He looked around at his people, receiving either shrugs or agreeing nods from all. "Until they started testing the artifact. And I don't think they got very far – the test was scheduled for twelve-twenty. The explosion happened right about then."

"Can I ask a question?" Jenny said. "What did the thing you were testing today look like? Tosh couldn't find any reference in the little information we have on what T4 had when it disappeared."

The androgynous Deirdre spoke up, her voice that of a well-trained soprano. "It was a four-sided pyramid. Two feet to each side on the base, rising to a point at four feet, eleven and two-fifths inches. We were unable to determine what sort of metal it was made of – it was a bluish-green that had a rainbow-like film in the right light, sort of like an oil slick. It weighed only twenty pounds, four ounces. We weren't able to scan within it, but it gave out massive electrical readings, numbering in the millions of volts. I'd thought it might be some sort of capacitor, but I was the only one who thought so."

"Were there any markings on it?" Jenny asked, the description completely unfamiliar to her.

Deirdre shook her head. "Not a single one. Even where the edges met, there weren't any seams, like the entire thing had been cast as one piece."

"Sound familiar?" Jack asked Jenny. "'Cause I don't think I've seen anything like it."

"Have to see a photo, if possible, to be sure," Jenny replied, "but it doesn't seem like anything I've come across, either."

"In that case, we'll shelve it until we can get some more information," Jack said, hitting buttons to shut off the monitor and to bring the lights back up. "In dealing with immediate concerns, it should be relatively simple to adjust the current protocols we have in place for dealing with time-displaced persons to apply to Torchwood employees."

From there, Jack split the group into smaller sections. The three engineers – Deirdre, Teague, and Kieran – wound up with Tosh. Jack stepped out onto the walkway with Malcolm and Brigit after having a quiet word with Ianto. Ianto headed to Jack's office with a nod, leaving Jenny with Mary, Dr. O'Kelly, and Nurse Eva.

"I know you'd probably rather be speaking with Owen," Jenny said, finishing off her slice of pizza, "but that can wait until later." She pulled herself up onto the table across from Eva, next to Mary. "From what I understand, the current policy for time-displaced people here at Cardiff is to set them up with an identity, acclimatize them to the current time zone, and then let them get on with their lives as best they can. How the captain plans to adjust that for your situation, I don't know."

"Then what fucking good are you?" Liam asked, crossing his arms over his blood-and-grime smeared shirt.

"Hey, don't be like that. You all got flashed thirty years into your future – it's going to take some getting used to. Believe me," Jenny said. "It could have been a _lot_ worse."

"How?" Eva asked, her voice small. "How could it be _worse_? From what I saw on the ride here, nothing's the same any more."

_I know I don't exactly look all grown-up, but you'd think they'd realize that the simple fact of me working here means I know what I'm on about._ "You could have been sent backwards four thousand years," she flatly stated. "Can you even imagine that sort of displacement? One day, you're flitting about in an entire _universe_ of opportunities and adventures, and then without any warning whatsoever, you wind up crashing into a time where even visiting the next-closest planetary body is a feat requiring _years_ of planning? To go from being able to have lunch at a restaurant under a tertiary star and supper in a station orbiting a black hole to being stuck in a place and time where it takes a full day just to visit a crappy little island barely four thousand miles away?" She glared at the two medicos. "You have _no idea at all_ just how _lucky_ you really are. Your society has, in all actuality, changed very little in the last thirty years."

Liam blinked at her outburst, then frowned. "Middle of the Bronze Age," he muttered.

"Liam?" Eva looked confused.

"That's what she said – we could've been thrown into the middle of the Bronze Age," Liam replied, looking a little more closely at Jenny. "It's what happened to you, then?"

Jenny nodded. "It did. At least you all speak the same language. When I first got here, I had to learn English."

"What did you speak before?" Eva asked, sounding somewhat faint.

"Main language of my time's Galactic Standard – it's the language of business and science across fifteen galaxies. I also know twenty or so other languages that were/will be popular at the time," Jenny explained. "Since getting stranded here-now, I've learned English, bits of Welsh, and a handful of words in other languages."

"We must seem primitive by your standards," Liam commented.

Jenny shrugged. "In technology, sure. But otherwise? People are just people. The same problems of everyday life you've always had you'll always have." She helped herself to a second slice of pizza, then sat the box between Liam and Eva. Mary was still off in her own little world. _I don't think she's going to be able to adjust,_ Jenny thought, watching the older woman twirl her wedding band. "Eat," she said to the other two. "Anyway, since getting stranded here, I've become something of a student of history. Would you like a run-down on world events since you woke up this morning?"

* * *

**A/N2:** I know they never found T4 in canon. This is why this is an AU – it's one of the things I wanted to explore and figured why not add it into this 'verse, rather than write a separate AU just for this? Besides, I'm gonna need T4 when I get to Children of Earth. I hope you're still enjoying the story.

Lemme know what y'all think. Thanks in advance.


	9. Puzzle Pieces

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'Torchwood'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** I know that 'officially', the organic computer system within Torchwood was supposedly one of the first bits of alien technology the Institute incorporated and adapted for their own use, but I decided to tweak this for the sake of the fic. If it bothers you, just repeat after me, "It's only an AU. It's only an AU."

* * *

**Synchronicity**

_Chapter Nine: Puzzle Pieces_

_12 November, 2006  
07:22_

Jack cast off from the hidden dock and set the nav to take them at a slow pace to Flat Holm. Afterwards, he joined Malcolm and Mary on the deck.

"Hell of a ship you got, Jack," Malcolm said, trailing a hand along the chrome grab-bar bolted to the top edge of the sleek black boat.

"Thanks," Jack replied. "But she's not for sale."

"Was I asking?"

"No, but you were thinking it."

Malcolm let out a chuckle. "Can't blame me." He sat himself on one of the padded benches that ran along the deck's perimeter. "Where're we headed?"

"Told you," Jack said, glancing at his watch. "Mary here isn't doing any better. We can't keep her at the Hub indefinitely. And I don't want to throw her in Providence Park."

"That's the mental institution, right?"

Jack nodded and used his wrist-strap to make a minor adjustment to the Sea Queen's nav system. "I've got a place set up for rift victims. Granted, Mary isn't exactly a victim of the rift itself, but she's still Torchwood's responsibility."

Malcolm didn't argue, just gave a slow shake of his head. "You've changed, Harkness." Since the explosion, it had come to his attention that Jack tended to use 'Torchwood' and 'me' interchangeably.

Jack quit fiddling with his Vortex Manipulator and looked at his old friend. "Really?"

"Definitely," Malcolm nodded emphatically. "The Jack I used to know tended to shy away from anything even remotely approaching responsibility – unless a pretty face was involved. How is Lucia, anyway?"

Jack flinched and slid into a seated position opposite Malcolm. "It's… a long story, Mal."

"I've got time," Malcolm replied, gesturing vaguely to the bay.

Jack cleared his throat and idly wished for a beer. "Well, Lucia's in hospital. Heart disease," he said. "On the list for a transplant, but the doctors don't expect her to live long enough to see it."

"Jesus, Jack – I'm sorry. What about…?"

"Melissa. Goes by Alice these days, though. Lucia… We didn't end well," Jack stared past Malcolm, watching the shoreline slowly fade into early morning fog. "She found out – the hard way – about me not staying dead. Freaked out. Resigned from Torchwood, then took Melissa and disappeared. Took me nearly eighteen years to find them again." He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "When I did, Lucia wouldn't even acknowledge my existence. Alice did, though."

"Do I even want to know?" Malcolm asked.

Jack let out a bark of humorless laughter and rubbed his jaw. "Oh, probably not. Alice doesn't want me around much, but she's better about it now than she was then. She got a divorce back in '02 and I found her a place to stay. It's frustrating as hell. She'll let me send money, pay the bills, and so on, but won't let me come by. Suppose I can sorta see her point, though. Steven only just turned seven. He might be a smart kid, but I don't think he's quite old enough to grasp the fact that I don't age."

Malcolm, despite his dislike of mathematics, was fully capable of adding two and two and reaching four. "Oh, I don't know. I would have thought a kid would be _more_ likely to simply accept weird facts like that than an adult. I offer myself as evidence."

Jack smiled at the memory of meeting a then ten year old Malcolm back in 1944, shrugged, then leaned back against the rail. "It's not my call to make, Mal. I don't like it any, but I'm not gonna interfere, not unless Alice asks."

"If she inherited even a quarter of your stubbornness, Jack, I'd imagine that'd be a cold, cold day in hell before she asks."

"No, she asked once already. Back when she left Joe. Could tell it took nearly everything she had to do it, but she did. I live in hope that she will again, though that same hope also begs it not be quite so serious next time."

The nav computer let out a loud buzzing noise and Jack got up and strode into the bridge. He took it off of autopilot and deftly navigated the ship to the dock. Having done this hundreds, if not thousands of times, alone, he didn't bother asking for help in tying the Sea Queen to the dock. "Welcome to Flat Holm, Mrs. Brannigan," he said, guiding the silent woman by the elbow onto the dock.

Malcolm stepped off the boat and took Mary's other elbow. Together, they managed to get her up the path and to a mostly-hidden door. A couple of minutes later and the three of them were greeted by a cheerful black lady wearing nurse's scrubs. "Morning, Captain," she said.

Jack smiled at her. "Morning, Helen. This is Mary Brannigan, the woman I told you about."

Helen displayed her frightening efficiency and took charge of Mary, leaving Jack and Malcolm swiftly behind. "I like her," Malcolm said, grinning at the hole left by Helen.

"Me, too," Jack replied. "While we're here, care for the two-penny tour?"

Four hours later, and they had made their way through the entirety of Flat Holm. Sitting on a cliff face overlooking the ocean, they munched on sandwiches and apple slices provided by the kitchen. Malcolm made a thoughtful noise, then asked, "Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Why'd you bring me here?"

Jack gnawed his way through an apple slice before replying. "It's not Torchwood. Not part of the Institute, I mean. I set it up back in 2000 after finding a pair of rift victims locked in the cells at the Hub. It's funded entirely through my personal investments. I don't have enough time to look after it, though."

"And you're hoping I'll step in." It wasn't a question.

"I trust you."

And to Malcolm's understanding of Jack, that was all the endorsement needed. "I'm not particularly gifted with administrative work, Jack. Honestly, if it hadn't been for Declan and Brigit, I never would have lasted more than a week at T4."

"I know, but you're a phenomenal delegator, Mal. It's why you _did_ do well in Belfast. Hire anyone you need to – there's more than enough money. What there isn't enough of are people I can trust to ensure these victims are treated _as_ victims." Jack quickly finished off his tuna-salad sandwich. "I could really, really use the help."

"That makes another change," Malcolm said, shredding the crust from his own sandwich and scattering it to the gulls below. "_You_ asking _me_ for help."

"Times change," Jack said as though it explained everything.

_Who knows? It just might_, Malcolm thought. "This isn't just some makework position, is it?"

Jack leveled a light glare at him. "Would I do that to you?"

"Yes, Jack – I think you would. But that doesn't answer my question."

"I suppose you might have a point, but – to answer your question – no, it's not just a makework post. I really do need someone I can trust to oversee things here. Too much of my time gets swallowed by Torchwood, I can't give Flat Holm and its residents the attention they deserve." Jack tossed his last apple slice off the cliff and watched as a gull swooped and caught it mid-air.

"And that brings up another topic you've oh-so-skillfully been sidestepping since I got here – how the _hell_ did you wind up as the bloody head of Torchwood?" Malcolm leveled his own glare at Jack.

"Worked for them a long time," Jack said, staring down at the gulls. "Back in '95, I wound up as a full-time field agent, thanks to an alien plague that wiped all but three of the T3 crew out. Penny, Mike, and Alex all survived. Alex was the head of T3 back then. He all but begged me to stick around. 'Just until I can get some more agents, Jack.'" Jack mimicked Alex's voice nearly perfectly, not that Malcolm would know the difference. "Over the next few years, we had agents come and go, none lasting more than a couple of months. And then, New Year's Eve, 1999. Crashed alien, just needed a link-up to communicate back home. I went. Crazy-looking alien, all spidery. Had to scuttle out of the way when I made to 'shake hands' – had evolved some form of contact poison over the eons. Anyway, I made it back to the Hub after seeing him off. Got back to find Penny and Mike had been shot. Alex was watching the New Year's countdown…"

"And…?"

"And _Alex_ had been who'd shot Penny and Mike. He'd gotten hold of a geegaw –"

"That a technical term?"

Jack huffed out a humorless laugh. "Yes. Problem?"

"None at all," Malcolm made a little twirly motion with his hands. "Continue."

"Some sort of locket or broach or something. Said it showed him the future and that's why he killed Penny and Mike. Apologized – actually _apologized_ – for not being able to kill me, too. Called it an 'act of mercy'. Gave me T3. 'My gift to you, Jack, for a century of service as field operative. Give this place a purpose before it's too late.'" Jack looked up at the sky. "Shot himself. Right in front of me."

"Fuck, Jack."

Jack looked back to Malcolm. "Yeah. I know. Anyhow, when T1 fell back in July, that left me in charge of Torchwood as a whole. Archie – he's T2 up in Glasgow – didn't want it. Threatened to retcon himself back to childhood if they made him head of the Torchwood Institute."

Malcolm didn't immediately reply. Instead he watched the gulls for several long minutes, absently finishing off the last of his apple slices. Eventually, he looked up at Jack. "Okay," he said.

"Okay?"

"I'll take the job, Jack – but you gotta get me my own little boat. Something I can take fishing on the weekends."

Jack laughed the first heartfelt laugh he'd had since before Ianto's Cyber-girlfriend had tried to kill the team and take over the Hub. "You never change at all, do you?"

"_You're_ the one who taught me to fish, Jack. I think it safe to say that it's all your fault."

* * *

_13 November, 2006  
18:10_

Tosh followed the hostess to a large corner booth; Eva, Brigit, and Deirdre followed closely on her heels, with Jenny bringing up the rear. They'd left Liam and Owen in a deep discussion regarding advancements made in the medical field, while Malcolm, Teague, Jack, and Kieran attempted to coerce Ianto into a card game.

Once everyone was settled, drinks and dinner ordered, Tosh said, "Well, after discussing things with Jack, it's been decided that Torchwood Belfast is going to be disbanded. We're not just going to cut you loose to fend for yourselves, however." The T4 womens' faces sported similar expressions of concern.

"What are you planning?" Eva asked, her no-nonsense manner coming through loud and clear.

"Well, you've got choices," Jenny replied. "Firstly, you can all decide to walk away from Torchwood. We'll provide you with IDs and temporary housing – likely at the same halfway house you're currently staying in – until you find your feet. Alternatively, we could really use your help here. The rift, though it's been quiet lately, has periods where seventy-two hour days are not uncommon."

"What would we do?" This time, Brigit asked the question.

A waitress arrived with their drink orders. As soon as she'd left, Tosh said, "Well, we all run double-duty. I'm primarily responsible for maintaining the computer systems and examining the technology that falls through the rift, but I also have to be on hand to do fieldwork. Jenny and Jack both help some with the technology, but most of it's not anything they know."

Deirdre sipped at her lemonade. "I don't know what the others will decide to do, but I would definitely be interested in continuing to work for Torchwood. As far as moving to Cardiff… Well, I had nothing left in Belfast anyway. Mum died when I was small and Da kicked me out of the house when I told him I was going into engineering instead of finding a husband. Hadn't spoken to the man in the better part of seven years as of a week ago."

"And bloody Torchwood's good about swallowing all your time," Eva added, spooning sugar into her tea. "My last boyfriend broke up with me when he figured out I spent more time at work than I did with him."

Deirdre and Brigit nodded in agreement. Deirdre then asked, "What sort of maintenance do you do on the computers?" Most of her first full day in 2006 had been spent being brought up to speed on how far computers had come since 1976; her second day had been spent in practical application of her new knowledge.

"Mostly inputting new programs, though I also feed her and look after her welfare," Tosh explained. Seeing Deirdre's confusion, Tosh smiled and clarified, "Viki is a living being."

"Is that the computer's name, then?"

Tosh shrugged and stripped the paper wrapping from her straw. "I honestly don't know if that's how she thinks of herself, but it's what I call her. It's from a movie they made from Isaac Asimov's short story I, Robot a couple of years ago. She was installed in the early '80s."

"Obviously," Eva rerouted the conversation, "Deedee would work with you. But what about me and Brigit? Just from the little information I've received from your Dr. Harper, just about everything I know is laughably out of date."

"You could always go back to school," Jenny suggested. "It wouldn't take much to get up to date on everything."

Eva scowled. "No, thank you. I never particularly liked nursing, I only went into it to snag myself a doctor. Turned out I was really good at it, so Torchwood recruited me. And I don't think I want to keep working for Torchwood. I miss having a social life." She took a sip of her tea.

"What would you do?" Brigit asked, looking at Eva.

"Always wanted to go to art school," Eva replied. "Maybe get into advertising."

"That's something you could do," Tosh said. "Think it over. It's not as though we're going to give you a deadline on making your decisions, after all."

Brigit plucked a lemon wedge out of her glass of sparkling water and sat it on a paper napkin. "Well," she said, glancing from Jenny to Tosh and back. "I never minded working Torchwood hours, but if they're disbanding Belfast, what's going to happen to Malcolm? I mean, I'm his secretary. Wouldn't my continued employment be rather contingent on his?"

"From what Jack said," Jenny replied, "Malcolm's gonna retire. Come in and help if we get swamped, but there was mention made of a fishing boat and pitchers of sangria." She took a gulp of her cola. "As to you – Jack said that you could train to be a field agent, if you like. If not, we need someone manning the tourist center full-time. Ianto does, but it's only for a few hours a week; he's supposed to be sorting the archives."

Further conversation was delayed by the arrival of their dinners.

* * *

_14 November, 2006  
11:43_

"Are you looking for anything specific?" Ianto asked, startling Tosh into dropping the file she held.

Kneeling to pick up the mess of scattered papers, Tosh let out a small chuckle. "Yes," she replied. "I was looking to see how long Jack's worked for Torchwood."

"He has a drawer up in his office," Ianto replied, helping Tosh with the file. "It's where he keeps the personnel files, I would imagine his own is in there, too."

With all the papers gathered back within their file-folder, Tosh stood and shook her head. "I'm not looking for his personnel file, just the field reports."

"Why?"

"Something that Mr. Campbell mentioned that first day got me wondering, is all. And the fact that Jack doesn't exist on the servers… Well, I wondered why."

"Hmm," Ianto murmured. "Well, I have to admit I don't know much myself. Only the rumors I heard while working in London."

Toshiko returned the file she'd been holding to its place, then leaned against the filing cabinet. "What rumors?"

Ianto mimicked her posture, only leaning against his desk. "There were several. One said that he was the avatar of Zeus," he offered the example with a wan smile.

Tosh laughed outright. "Don't think that one's true at all. Though Jack'll flirt with _anyone_, I've never seen him turn himself into a swan just to impress them."

"I quite agree," Ianto replied. "But the rumors just get more absurd from there. Just about the only one I have been able to confirm is Himself's flirtiness."

"Yeah, that does seem to be his default setting, doesn't it?" Tosh grinned, but could only coax another wan smile from Ianto. "Well, what does the archive say?"

Ianto shrugged. "Well, it was a complete disaster when I got here, save for the reports from January 2000 until now. Everything prior to that was slapdash at best, with minimal filing, to say _nothing_ of any sort of cross-referencing. I've managed to work my way back to March of 1995, but haven't gotten any further."

"And mentions of Jack?"

"Were in all of the reports from January 2000 until now," Ianto confirmed. "He took over then. Before that, there are regular reports as far back as I've worked. So far, none of them have mentioned any sort of start-date for our fearless leader."

"Hmm…" Tosh thought hard for a moment. "Where are the files for 1976? Mr. Campbell acted like he and Jack knew each other, but that was thirty years ago. I would have sworn Jack was only thirty-five, maybe thirty-six at the outside."

Ianto motioned for her to follow him into the cavernous archive chamber. It was extremely well-lit, and thanks to a solid week of work after he'd first arrived, was somewhat clean, with cardboard boxes holding all the files that had simply been stacked haphazardly – or just tossed on the floor. "I've managed some basic separation by year to all the files. '76 is split between these three boxes," he motioned to a short stack of black cardboard that were set against the unending row of filing cabinets.

Tosh unstacked the boxes and knelt to rifle through them. "Here we are – June, 1976. Field report by Harkness, Jack on…" she scanned the first page. "Looks like a blowfish. References a type of energy weapon similar to something they found from the rift, August 1955."

Ianto strode purposefully for the 1950s section and returned in short order with the file referenced in Jack's report. He scanned it as he walked, his steps slowing until he had to stop and reread a particular sentence _five_ times. "Toshiko?"

"What did you find?" Tosh asked, returning the file to its box and walking the fifteen feet or so over to Ianto.

"Read this. Tell me if I'm hallucinating."

Tosh took the file and read the first page. "Recovery of energy weapon, tenth of August, 1955. Field report by Harkness, Jack…" She nearly dropped the file. "Holy shit."

"Do you think it might be a relative?" Ianto groped for a rational explanation. "His father or grandfather or an uncle?"

Tosh flipped through the report, stopping at a stack of black-and-white photographs at the back of the file. "I don't think so," she said, holding the file out so Ianto could see the picture, too.

It showed some form of gun laid out in multiple parts. Jack – _their_ Jack, wearing his greatcoat – was leaning over the table on which the gun lay, pointing to one of the parts.

Ianto blinked at Tosh. "I'm not hallucinating, am I?"

"If so, so am I. Maybe we should have Owen come and test for psychotropic mold…?"

Ianto didn't reply, just walked over to his desk and dialed Owen's mobile number. "Could you come to the archives?" he asked as soon as Owen answered, then hung up before the doctor could reply. "He ought to be down in a minute or two."

"You sure about that?" Tosh asked, privately thinking that Owen would be far more likely to simply ignore the summons.

"Two minutes or less," Ianto assured her, even taking out a stopwatch and clicking it.

Sixty-four seconds later, Owen walked through the door. Tosh looked at Ianto. "How…?"

Ianto reset his stopwatch and returned it to his pocket. "Simple psychology," he explained.

"What's the emergency?" Owen demanded, walking over to them.

"We want a third set of eyes to make sure we're not hallucinating," Tosh replied, then handed him the 1955 file. "Who do you see in that photograph?"

Owen barely glanced at it, "Jack. Why?" Tosh reached over and flipped the file back to the first page and tapped the date. "1955?" Owen rolled his eyes and closed the file. "It's obviously a joke."

"I don't think so," Tosh countered, then explained how they'd found it.

Twenty minutes later, and the three of them were digging through the handwritten files from Torchwood Cardiff's earliest years. Roughly an hour passed before Ianto held up a file and said, "Here!"

The file itself was written in the same cramped, spidery handwriting as most of the files dated prior to its inclusion in the archive, but detailed hiring one 'Harkness, Captain Jack' in order to deal with yet another blowfish. It was dated for July of 1899. "No bloody way," Owen said. "Has to be an ancestor."

Personally, Tosh was starting to doubt that the answer was that easy, but they continued digging. More files began to stack up. 1901, February, March, May, August, and December. 1902, January through May, then September. 1903, another blowfish.

In the file for another bit of rift-debris, dated 27 October, 1907, a photo was included. The photo itself was focused on the 'object' the team at the time had found – a small rectangular box, roughly the size of a box of Valentine's Day chocolates – with what looked like glass panels or buttons inset along the widest face – but in the background, slightly blurry, was the distinctive shape of Jack.

Another photo, dated January of 1908, was more definitive. Jack – _their _Jack, right down to the irreverent grin – was leering at a handsome blonde man who wasn't paying any attention. The blonde, identified in the file as 'Jerome Tyler', was fitting together parts of a broken gadget that the file only identified as yet another piece of 'rift debris'.

Owen slowly closed the file and handed it back to Ianto to be put away. "Huh…"

"What?" Tosh asked, eager to hear Owen's opinion.

"I think," Owen said, slowly pulling together his thoughts. "I think I've got my _why_."

"Why what?" Ianto asked, setting about returning the files they'd been thumbing through to their proper places.

"Why Jack refuses any sort of medical treatment," Owen replied. "I mean, I've never seen the man get ill for any reason, but there's lots of people who have good immune systems. But we've _all_ seen him get injured. And he always – _always_ – brushes me off."

Tosh exchanged a short look with Ianto. She hoped her 'well, it could just be _you_' came across clearly, but her own interpretation of Ianto's expression was simply 'mild interest'. "What about it?" she asked instead of making a joke.

"Well… If this really is him mentioned in the files, then…" Owen trailed off.

"Then…?"

"Well, it's sorta obvious, ain't it? Alien. Has to be. Some sort of race that ages at a different rate to humans," Owen replied, a 'so there' note to his voice.

Tosh had to admit that it made sense. "Maybe," she said. "I mean, it would explain how he seems to recognize – and can operate – so much of the tech that gets thrown our way, but can't work the espresso machine and can't go more than three months without blowing up the microwave."

"To be fair," Ianto interrupted, "the last time the microwave needed replacing was because Owen left a fork in his lunch."

"I said sorry, didn't I? Besides, that sort of accident can happen to anyone," Owen groused. "But back to Jack… Do you think he might be the same type of alien as Jenny? They both _look_ perfectly human…" He then shook his head. "No, ignore that. Jenny let me take a blood sample – her blood's this really dark _orange_ color, not red. Jack's got normal-looking red blood. But if there's one species out there that looks like us, why not another?"

Ianto finished putting the files away and set to straightening the boxes. "Could he have fallen through the rift himself?" he asked, thinking back to Jack's confession about his wife. Suddenly, the 'hundred years ago' didn't seem quite so much like hyperbole. "He once told me something I'd brushed off at the time, something about the fifty-first century."

"It's likely," Tosh said. "Most of the alien stuff we deal with gets thrown at us by the rift."

"So, alien _and_ from the future," Owen mused. "I guess that sorta explains why he's so insistent that 'the twenty-first century is when it all changes'. If he's from the future, he'd know, wouldn't he?"

"But that argument," Ianto countered, subtly herding Tosh and Owen back towards his desk, "would indicate that alien species cared about human history. I just can't see that happening – our history is only ever going to be important to us."

"How d'you mean?" Owen asked as they reached Ianto's desk. He moved a stack of files out of the way and sat on the desk itself, ignoring Ianto's obvious disapproval.

"Think about it," Tosh said. "Do _you_ care about the history of the weevils? The blowfish? What about the history of that gaseous entity that we saw a few weeks ago?"

"Fair point," Owen allowed. "So… You think he's human, then?"

"I don't know," Tosh replied. "Three thousand years is a really _long_ time. In just a _hundred_ years, humans have gone from using horses as the primary means of transportation to regularly breaking the speed of sound. Even the publicly-accessible technology is advancing at nearly an exponential rate – just ten years ago, it was relatively unheard of to have a personal computer with more than half a gigabyte of memory. Now? It might cost an arm and a leg, but you can get a single hard drive with half a _terabyte_ of data storage space. You've spent some time with Dr. O'Kelly, Owen – how much has medicine advanced over the last thirty years? Multiply those advances by a thousand, and then tell me it's not possible that we'll find some way to cease or delay aging."

"So, you're scrapping the 'alien' idea?" Owen picked up Ianto's stapler and began fiddling with it.

Ianto smoothly stepped over and returned the stapler to his desk as Tosh shrugged. "I don't know. It's a valid theory, yes, but it's not the _only_ possibility."

"I doubt we'll ever find out," Ianto said, sitting in his chair. A headache was, yet again, beginning to build behind his eyes. He retrieved a small bottle of paracetamol and swallowed two tablets, washed down with the cold dregs of his coffee. "Not unless we can get him to talk. And for all that he never shuts up, he almost _never_ talks about himself."

"You still getting headaches?" Owen asked, rotating slightly in place.

"I would think the answer is fairly obvious," Ianto dryly replied, returning the paracetamol to his drawer.

"They do seem to be making the rounds," Tosh volunteered. "Been getting some pretty bad ones myself the last few days. Always at right around nine-thirty or so. Again at about three in the afternoon."

Ianto closed his eyes for a moment. "Nothing quite so trackable in my case. Just comes and goes."

"Since Jack put you on Hub-arrest?" Owen asked.

Ianto nodded. "Yes. I'm beginning to wonder if Tosh might be partially right and there's some form of mold growing in the air-circulation system."

"Could be – you two aren't the only ones getting headaches. I've had a couple myself. Thought it might've been because I've been focusing so much on Joyce, but if you two are, too, then it's far more likely to be something environmental. I'll look into it." Owen picked up a pad of notepaper Ianto kept next to his monitor and used the pen clipped to his own collar to scribble a note to himself. "Anyone else have any other symptoms?"

"Not really," Tosh replied. "Just…"

"What?"

"Well, it's gonna sound a little nuts, but I've been sleeping really _well_ lately, but can't seem to get my brain to shift into 'go' until I've been awake a few hours. Coffee doesn't seem to help."

Owen added to his note, then turned to Ianto. "And you, Tea Boy?"

"Just the headaches, Owen. Now, get yourself off of my desk," Ianto said, irritation leaking into his normally all-business tone of voice.

Owen tore off the page with his notes, then tossed the notepad at Ianto. Standing, he tucked the note into his pocket. "I need to get back to Joyce and O'Sullivan."

"I'll come with you," Tosh said, then asked, "How are they doing?" as they headed for the door.

* * *

_14 November, 2006  
12:00_

Teague Cullen splashed some cold water on his face and then peered at himself in the pitted mirror. The past four days had been a whirlwind of chaos and confusion, alternating screaming highs with crushing lows, but he felt that he was slowly getting used to things. "When did your life become a fantasy story, T?" he asked his reflection, then grinned. "Imagine if Grandfather could see you now. How horrified would he be? Might be enough to kill the bastard, if he weren't already dead, huh?"

Drying his face and hands on a wad of paper towels, he exited the restroom and walked out into the Hub. _It's not Belfast, that much is certain, but it's definitely got a certain appeal._ Even with the computers scattered around that made it seem as though it had been pulled out of someone's work of speculative fiction, the entire place had a make-do quality about it that appealed to Teague. _It's that 'come hell or high water' vibe._ He had the feeling that, if pressed, any one of the T3 members could wind up saving the world with a bit of string and a pocket-watch. It spoke of _imagination_ and _stubbornness _and other traits of which Grandfather had disapproved.

Above him, he saw the cute guy who wore all those fitted suits carry a tray with mugs of steaming beverages out of the kitchen area and down the spiral stairs. _I have to wonder why he never smiles. What was his name again? Something-Jones, I believe. _Jones paused in his rounds next to where Tosh was showing Deedee and McEvoy something on the computer. All three of them snagged a mug – Tosh's had cherry blossoms painted on it, Deedee's was dark blue, and McEvoy's was plain white. Jones moved on to the medical bay, returning in a moment less two more mugs. There was only one cup left on the tray – black, with the prism image from _Dark Side of the Moon_ on it. He handed it to the blonde girl who didn't look old enough to have finished school yet. _Not that you've got any room to talk there, T. You had your first doctorate by the time you were sixteen, and the only reason it took that long was because you were simultaneously working on your second and doing slave-labor for Grandfather. Had you focused on one at a time, had he not been such a bastard, you might've gotten that first one by the time you were twelve._

Jones took the empty tray back up to the kitchen area, and Teague could hear him prepping another round of cups. Shaking his head a little, Teague strolled over to McEvoy and Deedee. He lurked behind them long enough to see that she was walking them through a schematic on how the Hub's computer system – _And it was _grown_, how's that for weird?_ – interfaced with the inorganic components such as the monitors and other bits of technology they regularly used. The mere thought of a computer that _grew_ was something that gave him a case of the creepy-crawlies, so he moved on to the blonde girl. She was analyzing a spiral of silver-colored metal. He pulled a chair over and asked, "Know what it is yet?"

The blonde shrugged. "Could be scrap. Tests as an alloy of copper and nickel, with traces of manganese. There's no other traces of anything else in the mix."

"Hotel silver," Teague said. "It's used a lot in marine engineering because it's resistant to corrosion. May I?" he gestured to the spiral.

"Knock yourself out," the blonde replied, scooting her chair out of the way.

Teague picked up the spiral. It was a little less than a foot long, with the inch-wide spiral making two complete circles that narrowed slightly from about seven inches in diameter to about five inches in diameter. There were no markings anywhere on it, and no holes through which bolts could be placed. The edges of the metal spiral were smoothly rounded. "Hmm…" Teague said, disconnecting the alligator clamps that connected it to the blonde's workstation.

"What?"

"Give me your arm, please," Teague replied, a vague memory of his mother readying herself for a holiday party flashed through his mind. He'd only been about five years old at the time – his parents had died not long after.

The blonde held out her left arm and Teague slid the spiral over her close-fitting grey shirt that she habitually wore beneath a series of t-shirts. "There."

"It's a bracelet?"

"I'd think so. Mother had a pair she wore over formal gloves for black-tie events," Teague replied. "Only hers were gold, with pearl inlay."

The blonde looked at the arm-band, then slid it off. "Not really my style," she commented, then typed something on her computer. "So – this is a first for me. 'Costume jewelry, origin unknown'. Usually what we get through the rift is not quite so benign. Even most of the stuff that comes through broken can be dangerous."

"I did somehow manage to get that impression, yes," Teague dryly replied. "I'm sorry – I can't recall your name…?"

"Jenny," the blonde replied. "And you're Teague, right?"

He nodded. "My friends call me T, though. Just the letter, mind."

"How're you doing with everything?" Jenny asked, saving the addition she'd made to the file on the bracelet.

Teague shrugged. "I don't know – it's by turns thrilling and terrifying. And to top it off, I'm still trying to get used to the fact that John and Aiden aren't around to share it with."

"They were two of the deaths, weren't they?"

Teague nodded. "Aye. John McMillan and Aiden McGuinness. We were pretty close, even though we were on different teams. John was one of the researchers and Aiden was a physicist. Michael O'Brien was another of the researchers who died – odd bloke, never said a whole lot. Teresa Maguire, though, she never bloody shut up. Thought she was far more brilliant than she really was, but you couldn't tell her anything. She's about the only one I don't miss. Declan, on the other hand… Declan McGrath made sure everything back in Belfast worked, always had a good word to say about everyone."

"I'm sorry I didn't get to meet them," Jenny said, sympathetically.

"Me, too," Teague replied, surprising himself a little in how he actually meant it. Jones appeared with another mug of steaming black beverage, the mug itself sported the honeycomb-T logo for Torchwood in white over green. "Thanks," he said, taking the coffee. Jones walked away without a word. "What's his story?"

"Ianto?" Jenny grabbed her own mug and finished off its contents. A quick glance revealed to Teague that – unlike everyone else – she had hot chocolate. "Well… It's not really my story to tell. About a week ago, his girlfriend died. Anything more than that, and you're gonna hafta ask someone else. I'd recommend asking _him_. If you can get him to talk, I mean."

Teague buried the flash of disappointment at the mention of a girlfriend and decided to change the subject. "What about you, then? I overheard Eva and Doc Liam chatting at the house last night. Are you really from the future?"

Jenny nodded. "Yep. Right around four thousand years."

"How'd you wind up working for Torchwood, then? I'd imagine they'd rather pick your brain, then throw you in a dark little cell where you can't make trouble than hire you as an employee." Teague had no illusions whatsoever as to the type of people who ran Torchwood. _No, who _used_ to run Torchwood. Those pikers in London. Is it evil for me to be glad they're gone?_

"Well, I crashed here almost seven years ago," Jenny explained, then went on to describe how she'd lain low to avoid just the sort of people Teague had described. She finished up at the same time Teague finished his coffee. "And you? What's your story?"

"It's boring, I'm sure," Teague replied, setting his mug on Jenny's desk.

"People are never boring. I like biographies." She fluttered her eyelashes at him in a parody of a pleading expression. "Tell me a story," she simpered.

Teague grimaced and shoved playfully at her. "Only if you quit that and promise never to do it again!"

Jenny giggled. "Sure, T. Won't do it again. But c'm on, tell me. Pretty please?"

"Alright," he agreed. "You like biographies, eh? So here's the autobiography of Teague A. Cullen: Once upon a time –"

"Hey! Biography, not fairytale," Jenny protested.

"Are you telling this or am I?" Teague countered.

"Fine. Go ahead," she made a little motion with her hand as though she were royalty granting an audience.

"Once upon a time, there was a filthy-rich family named Cullen. Though the patriarch of this family liked to claim they'd made their money through hard work and dedication, the vast fortune had actually been gathered the old-fashioned way – through lying, cheating, double-dealing, and other less savory practices – just like every other filthy-rich empire in the world."

"Charming family," Jenny commented.

"You don't know the half of it. Anyway, in 1945, after the War came to a close, the family was richer than ever, and the patriarch determined that it was time for his son to choose a bride. Alain chose a woman of impeccable breeding, the youngest girl of an influential family. He picked her primarily because the marriage would help cement a shady business deal between his family and hers, but he also thought she was beautiful."

"Rich bastard marries similarly-rich arm candy, check. Story as old as time."

Teague laughed. "You've got that right. But back to the story. Once the business deal was finalized – it took a full three years to settle all the little details – the patriarch determined it was time to ensure the family name would continue. In 1949, Alain and Margaret Cullen produced a boy. They named him 'Teague' after his mother's grandfather, and 'Alain' after his father, as was the Cullen family tradition. As was fitting for a family of their standing, Teague Alain Cullen was immediately shunted into the care of a series of nurses and nannies. It wasn't long, however, before it had become apparent that Teague wasn't a typical baby. He had learnt to walk at only eight months old, and was speaking in grammatically-correct full sentences before his first birthday.

"The nannies and nurses didn't know how to handle such a precocious little boy, and so they went to Alain, who in turn approached the patriarch. The patriarch was proud of his grandson's innate intelligence, felt that it reflected positively back on him… as though he had anything to do with it. The patriarch hired tutors to nurture the boy. One after the other, tutors entered Teague's life, but left as soon as he'd mastered whichever topic they'd brought. Reading, mathematics, history, Latin – they all came naturally to the little boy.

"Teague himself quite liked the learning… at first. He had a mind built for asking questions. And while other little boys his age might have been playing with toy soldiers or outside roughhousing with dogs or taking riding lessons, Teague had never known any differently. When he was four, his tutor was teaching him the mysteries of geometry, while his parents succumbed to the 'heir and a spare' mentality. At about the same time that geometry transitioned to advanced algebra, Teague's set of rooms – the nursery – were invaded by a baby brother.

"Thanks to the inevitable squalling interrupting his sleep, Teague's studies began to suffer, and so the patriarch had him moved to a new set of rooms. Time passed, and Teague was introduced to the sciences. He nearly forgot he _had_ a brother – he never saw him. In fact, he rarely even saw his parents. The only people he saw with any regularity were the household staff, and they were coldly distant. Teague's tutors never stayed longer than a few months at the most. It would have been lonely, but Teague had never known anything different." He paused to take a drink from his mug, only to find it was empty. He returned it to the desk. Jenny offered him a stick of mint-flavored gum. "Thanks," he said, accepting it. He chewed for a moment, then continued his tale.

"When Teague was six, his parents were killed in a plane crash. The Cullen patriarch was forced to take a more active interest in the boy. He did so by redirecting his lessons to more business-oriented studies. Teague learned like he always had done, but it bored him. He much preferred science. About a year later, the patriarch struck a deal with him. 'If you work for me, I will allow you to go back to studying what you wish.' Teague agreed. The patriarch then used the little boy to analyze the stock market. Teague hated its boring simplicity, but did as Grandfather demanded. In six months, he managed to double the amount of money the family possessed, not that he knew it at the time. His only payment for his services were a return of tutors for chemistry, biology, botany, and so forth.

"And so the years passed, with Teague unknowingly adding to the already obscene amount of wealth in the family name while pursuing his own studies. Collegiate degrees began to pile up, culminating with a doctorate in chemical engineering when Teague was sixteen. The Cullen patriarch, though he privately disapproved of his heir's fascination with science, was still proud of the boy's successes, for they served to enhance his own success and standing.

"The following summer, at Teague's seventeenth birthday party, that all changed. The patriarch caught the boy in a compromising situation with another boy in a disused wing of the family mansion. The other boy was escorted off the grounds by security – Teague later learned that he had been killed in a robbery a week later, likely a robbery paid for by Cullen funds – and Teague himself was beaten. While recovering in hospital, one of the family's cadre of lawyers arrived to inform him that due to his 'perversion', he had been disinherited and disowned. His little brother, now thirteen years old and painfully average in every respect, was to be the Cullen heir. Teague was further informed that any further attempted contact would be met with legal action. While still waiting to get out of traction, Teague put the majority of his mental powers towards attempting to figure out what he was supposed to do now, but was hindered in that he had never before needed to function in the world outside the Cullen estate.

"The day before he was due to be released from hospital, a stranger in a business suit showed up with an offer: Work for Torchwood." Teague smiled. "I've stuck with it for ten years now. In all honesty, I can't really imagine working anywhere else."

"Wow," Jenny said. "It almost sounds like one of those horrible, over-acted, melodramatic made-for-television movies. The only thing missing is either a painfully saccharine reunion where Gramps discovers his heart amid the swelling of a string orchestra or the utter bankruptcy of the family at the hands of the little brother, culminating in Gramps' suicide."

Teague shrugged. "I checked up on what's happened since '76. Grandfather died, peacefully in his sleep, in '94. Peter – my brother – is married and has three kids, all girls. The business side is still going strong as ever. Apparently, Peter's wife is a bit more business-savvy than he is. But, I don't particularly care. It's all past. No sense in looking back."

"Can't fault that approach," Jenny agreed. "How about looking forward?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, Mr. Campbell's retiring, since Belfast is being disbanded. Brigit wants to stay – she's likely going to wind up manning the tourist office upstairs. Deirdre and Kieran are both staying, though only Deirdre wants field agent training. Eva doesn't want to stick around, but hasn't decided fully on what she wants to do. I've no idea what Dr. O'Kelly's plans are. What about you?"

"Told you already – I can't really imagine _not_ working for Torchwood, though I have to admit that it would be nice to get out of the lab every now and then." He thoughtfully chewed on his gum, then asked, "What of Mrs. Brannigan?"

Jenny shook her head. "Jack said she was having trouble adjusting, so he 'got her the help she needs'. I would imagine that means she's in the care of a troop of therapists armed with an assortment of drugs."

"Sad," Teague commented. "She was always pretty nice. Never really complained, and never failed to bring shortbread in during Christmastime." His stomach let out an audible rumble.

"I'd think that's the cue to go see if Ianto's ordering lunch today, or if we're on our own."

* * *

**A/N2:** A little longer than average so far for this world, but I'm not going to apologize for it. There's one more (I think) scene before I drop back into the canon-supplied storylines – that'd be 'Countrycide', if you're curious.

And what do y'all think of the OCs? Not too overwhelming, I hope. And I also hope it's clear which will be sticking around (T3 really needs more than just five people, to my way of thinking). Drop me a review to let me know. Thanks in advance.


	10. Loose Ends

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'Torchwood'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** Okay, so there was a bit more I needed to address before plunging back into the canon-supplied storylines. Sorry – I had been focusing too hard on the storyline upcoming, I failed to take into account the threads whose time has come for cutting. 'Countrycide' will begin in the next chapter.

* * *

**Synchronicity**

_Chapter Ten: Loose Ends_

_15 November, 2006  
14:01_

"So… How often do you actually get tourists in here, looking for information?" Brigit asked, thumbing through a stack of fliers on local attractions.

"Not often," Ianto admitted, "but it does happen from time to time. Mostly, what you will be doing is accepting deliveries, sorting mail – both regular post and email – and manning the fax machine."

Brigit smiled, returning the stack of fliers to their place. "So far, it sounds rather like what I did for Malcolm. All that's missing is taking dictation and answering the telephone."

Ianto motioned for her to join him behind the counter. "The captain answers his own phone and writes his own correspondence… mostly. What he doesn't deal with, I usually do."

"So, you're his second-in-command?" Brigit asked, watching Ianto boot up the computer.

Ianto shook his head. "No. I… My job here is… rather difficult to explain."

"Jenny said you were the archivist," Brigit said.

"Yes, I am that, but I've other duties as well." The computer let out a chiming noise. Ianto stepped aside and motioned for Brigit to take the stool that was tucked under the counter.

"What other duties?" Brigit asked, pulling out the stool and taking a seat. "Any I can help with? Not immediately, I mean – I'm sure it will take me a few days to get used to things. But once I get up to speed, if I have free time?"

"Don't worry about it. If you find yourself getting bored, there are innumerable small details which need tending to on any given day. Give it a week or two, and I'll provide you a list," Ianto said. "Now, has Tosh gone over basic computers with you?"

"Yes," Brigit replied. The next half-hour was spent in Ianto walking her through which programs she needed to monitor; specifically, the email accounts – both the one for the tourist office and the one that was for Torchwood. The Torchwood account received any email sent to a Torchwood domain address that was not listed as currently active. For example, if someone tried to send an email to Suzie's Torchwood account, it would be delivered to the general Torchwood account that Brigit would be responsible for sorting. Once Ianto felt Brigit had the basics down, he finished explaining her other duties.

Leaving her to her own devices, Ianto left to tend to the afternoon coffee distribution. As usual, he saved Jack's coffee until last. As he approached the office, Ianto could hear him speaking to someone. "…you have to agree, the vast majority of what they had been working on has since been rendered obsolete… No, I'm not saying that, General –" Ianto stepped into the office in the silence. Jack grinned at him and made 'gimme' motions at the coffee mug. Ianto handed over the coffee and Jack mouthed 'stick around'. "Do I have to remind you, General, that all Torchwood property is considered the personal property of Her Majesty? And I've got a complete list of what was in storage… Nope, not a computer file, General. Turns out one of the survivors has an eidetic memory and was intimately familiar with the contents of their archives…" Jack took a sip of his coffee and Ianto waited patiently. "Okay. I'll expect delivery at 1700. And General? If so much as a single circuit board is missing, expect to be called to London to explain the discrepancy in person." Jack hung up the phone, and Ianto could tell he was itching to throw it across the room.

"UNIT attempting to seize control of the technology in Belfast, sir?"

Jack sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "It's Torchwood Tower all over again, only on a smaller scale," he said, then stood and, coffee in hand, strolled over to the windows that overlooked the Hub. "Anyway, they're delivering what was salvageable in Belfast to us this afternoon. I'll need you and McEvoy to go through and make sure everything's there that ought to be there."

"Yes, sir," Ianto replied. "I take it that McEvoy is who has the eidetic memory?"

Jack nodded and took a drink from his mug. "Have you been doing something different with the coffee lately? It tastes… off. Not _bad_, just not quite the same."

"I changed out the tubing on the espresso machine," Ianto replied. "The old tubing was nearly clogged from mineral deposits. Otherwise, it's just the same as always."

"Could be it," Jack shrugged, dismissing the topic. He turned and faced Ianto. "What do you think of our new help?"

Ianto took a moment to gather his thoughts, then said, "Miss Doyle seems competent. Over-enamored with the delete button on the computer keyboard, but otherwise should be a decent fit for the office upstairs."

Jack chuckled. "If you'd ever had to type anything on a typewriter, you'd be just as in awe of the delete button as she is."

"I suppose so, sir," Ianto allowed, inwardly wondering just why Jack was looking for _his_ opinion. "Miss McNamara appears to be adjusting well, as is Mr. McEvoy. Miss McNamara, however, has mentioned she would appreciate field agent training, as has Mr. Cullen."

Jack nodded. "I've got Jenny working with them on hand-to-hand and in the firing range. What about Dr. O'Kelly?"

"Owen has mentioned that he's rapidly getting caught up on the last thirty years of medical advancements, but otherwise I've not had much contact with him."

Jack took another drink and ambled over to his desk. Leaning against it, he asked, "And you? You think you can face going home?"

The question slammed into Ianto like a bus. He closed his eyes, thinking of the boxes of his and Lisa's things that crowded his small flat, awaiting the day they could pick out their own place – the day that would now never come. "I don't know, sir," Ianto said, his voice low and rough. "Does it stop?"

"Stop?"

"Hurting."

The sound of Jack setting his half-full mug down reached Ianto's ears. Moments like an eternity later, and he could smell his boss' distinctive spicy-sweet scent, feel the furnace-like heat of his hands on his shoulders. "No," Jack said, matter-of-factly. "It doesn't stop. You just learn how to live with it."

The scent and heat grew in intensity as Jack pulled Ianto into a hug that should have been awkward, but wasn't. It wasn't flirty, it wasn't sexual. It was a simple expression of comfort, a tangible reminder that Ianto was not as alone as he felt.

* * *

"I don't think there's any room for interpretation on this," Owen said, paging through the past three days' worth of readouts on the various monitors attached to Joyce. "Everything's dropping – even his EEG readings are falling. Slowly, yeah, but it's still a noticeable decline."

"Damn near miraculous he lived this long," Liam replied, looking over Owen's shoulder. "I wasn't expecting him to still be breathing when the rescue team showed up."

Owen sighed and clicked over to a similar set of readouts for O'Sullivan. "On the upside, our other patient seems to be doing well. All the breaks have set and are beginning to mend, and the swelling's gone down in his brain."

"Might want to consider keeping him under," Liam said. "I know Connor. He's the sort who can't sit still for more than a couple of seconds at a stretch. Being bed-bound would drive him insane within six hours, tops."

Owen shook his head. "No, we're reaching the end of my ability to keep him sedated. All the breaks, save his leg, were simple hairline fractures. As long as he takes it easy, he should be fine."

"I'm not disputing that, simply saying he's not going to be particularly happy about it."

Owen let out a scoff of laughter. "I don't know _anyone_ who's happy about broken bones." He shut off the computer monitor and looked over at O'Sullivan. "Still, once he wakes, I think we can move him to a rehab facility."

"Shoving problems onto others, Dr. Harper?"

Owen shook his head. "Nope. Just need the space. It's unusual I manage more than two or three days in a row without needing to dissect something with tentacles or stingers or claws… or all three."

Liam took a seat on a rolling stool, his long legs treating it more like a normal chair, with his feet flat on the floor, rather than resting on a cross-brace the way Owen's did when he used the seat. "I must admit the prospect of getting to study some of the alien biologics that Torchwood comes across is an intriguing prospect."

"You've not had the pleasure?" Owen's sarcasm was definitely in attendance.

Liam shook his head. "No. I had plans to visit the London branch next year, where I would have had the opportunity to see some of their specimens, but…" he gave a small half-shrug.

"But," Owen said. "Yeah. That's a good definition of life in Torchwood. All the plans and dreams you can conceive of, _but_ there's an explosion or a crashed space ship or a pending invasion – 'cause UNIT's about as useful as a coffee enema to a horse when things get serious – or a piece of alien tech's taken over one of your coworkers or…" he trailed off with a sheepish expression as he realized he was devolving into a rant. "Yeah. I get it."

The older doctor twitched his eyebrows in a way Owen had come to learn had meant 'neutral agreement'. "I'm sure," he stated. "Do you ever get the chance to study living alien specimens? Or is all the work done postmortem?"

"Mostly, it's autopsies," Owen confirmed. "But every now and again, I get a live one. Not often, though, not unless you count Jenny."

One of Liam's eyebrows crept towards his hairline. Owen had dubbed the expression as 'the hell you say' face. "That little blonde girl?"

Owen snorted. "Don't let her hear you call her that, mate – she'll lay you flat." He rubbed lightly at the eye she'd blackened on her first day. "But yeah."

"She seems human," Liam said, obviously interested.

A slight chill ran down Owen's spine. _Is it the novelty or is he interested for more nefarious reasons?_ Unfortunately, it was too late for Owen to take back his words. He turned the monitor for the med-bay computer back on and pulled up Jenny's file. "Only on the surface," he said, setting the computer to project the information on the brick wall.

Liam spun the stool around and looked up at the image displayed – the x-ray revealing Jenny's two hearts and extra ribs. "Fucking hell," he muttered, scooting the stool back a few inches to get a better look. Owen pulled up the images from his Bekaran deep-tissue scanner. It showed, in excessive detail typically limited to illustrations in textbooks, the various systems within the scanned subject. Currently, it displayed Jenny's scan as a composite of all her inner systems, excluding her musculature. "Fucking _hell_," Liam repeated, standing and examining the displayed image. "She's got four of everything she should have two of, and two of everything else."

"Yeah, I noticed that myself," Owen dryly replied. "But it's not quite accurate. She doesn't have a few things we have," he manipulated the image and used a laser pointer to draw Liam's attention to the pertinent areas. "For example, she doesn't really have _lungs_. There's this area here, behind and between both hearts, that acts as a lung, drawing air in and out, but see these tubes here," he dragged the red dot along green-colored tubes that he had initially assumed to be part of her circulatory system. "Air gets drawn in and circulated like blood. And here?" he indicated one of several small green splotches that were only slightly off from where a human's lymph nodes would be located. "Those are storage areas for oxygen. Without trying, Jenny can hold her breath for five minutes."

"Fascinating," Liam muttered. He turned and strode the few feet over to Owen's side. "May I?" he gestured to the computer.

Owen turned off the projector and stood. "Go ahead. The file's got a lock on it, so you can't change anything."

While Liam immersed himself in Jenny's scans, Owen set about straightening the med-bay, keeping an eye on the older man as he did so. _I really hope he's only curious. I don't want to have to shoot him._ The thought of retcon never entered his head.

At half-past four that afternoon, Sean Joyce's readouts all hit zero.

* * *

Two trucks arrived right on time, carrying what had been salvaged from the Torchwood Belfast office. It took nearly three hours for the UNIT soldiers to finish off-loading everything and moving the majority of the junk into an empty storeroom. Five boxes, however, made of sturdy metal and cold to the touch, were hauled directly to the main level of the Hub. They contained the bodies of those who had not survived the explosion.

As the UNIT soldiers hauled the final two caskets off of the lift and through the cog, Deirdre – Kieran on her left, Teague on her right, and Liam standing behind her – closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and sang, "Of all the money that e'er I spent, I spent it in good company."

Kieran joined in on the next line, his singing voice a vibrating bass. "And all the harm that e'er I've done, alas it was to none but me."

Brigit, who'd been following the soldiers, joined in next, with a faintly flat alto. "And all I've done for want of wit, to mem'ry now I can't recall." She joined the other Belfast survivors. Deirdre wrapped a sticklike arm around her shoulders, and Teague followed suit with an arm around her waist.

Teague's voice was hard to hear among the others, but though it was quiet, it was a rather nice tenor. "So fill to me the parting glass, good night and joy be with you all."

The soldiers laid the last casket next to the others then stood back, berets in hand, as Liam joined in with a surprisingly powerful baritone. "Of all the comrades that e'er I've had, are sorry for my going away." He laid one hand on Kieran's shoulder and the other on Teague's.

Kieran took Deirdre's hand in his own as they sang the next line. "And all the sweethearts that e'er I've had, would wish me one more day to stay."

Owen and Jack carried over the stretcher containing Sean Joyce and laid him next to his fellows as the survivors continued the song. "But since it falls unto my lot, that I should rise and you should not, I'll gently rise and I'll softly call."

Jack and Owen stepped back among the UNIT soldiers. "Good night and joy be with you all," the group sang. Deirdre finished with a repetition of, "Good night and joy be with you all," that raised gooseflesh on most of the listeners.

Everyone stood as though frozen until the faintest echo of the song had faded. The UNIT soldiers left. The group from Belfast maintained their version of a 'group hug' for nearly a solid ten minutes. Liam was the first to break away. "Let's get them put to bed," he said.

Owen stepped forward to help, but Kieran stopped him. "No, lad – let us. You just let us know how and where they belong."

Nodding, Owen did just that.

Jack headed up to his office and dialed up Malcolm's new mobile number. "Come by," he said once his old friend had answered. "Pick up Eva from the house."

"Jack?"

"We got the bodies from Belfast today. I think you should all be together," Jack explained. "There's a decent pub a ten minute walk from here."

"Hell, Jack – that sounds like a fine idea, indeed. I've needed a decent drink ever since I got here. Eva and me, we'll be there in half an hour. Maybe less."

It was only fifteen minutes before Malcolm arrived with Eva. They immediately gravitated to Brigit, Deirdre, and Teague – Liam and Kieran had declined assistance from the younger three. Jenny, Tosh, and Ianto were lurking in the background. Jack was pretty sure they wanted to help, but were at a loss as to _how_.

_Or,_ he thought, _in Ianto's case, feeling guiltily jealous. They've got each other to lean on. He still feels alone, I'm sure._ Jack pushed aside the thought and picked up his desk phone to make one more call.

When he was done, he headed downstairs. Owen stepped over when he beckoned to him. "Can O'Sullivan be left for the night?"

Owen nodded. "Yeah," he said. "He should actually be waking up sometime late tomorrow. Why?"

"'Cause I think we all need a night off. I already checked Tosh's rift program and it seems like it should be another quiet night."

Owen frowned and shook his head. "Go if you want to, but I think I'll stay. Quietly double-check everything," he kept his voice pitched for Jack's ears alone and jerked his chin towards where Kieran and Liam were lifting the last casket to take to the morgue. "Also need to clean up in the med-bay. Get things situated…"

"If you're sure…?"

Owen nodded. "Yeah, Jack. I'm sure. Besides, you know I'm not a real friendly drunk. Last thing any of them needs is me picking a fight."

Jack decided that Owen had a point. "Call me if there's any rift activity."

At approximately nine-thirty that night, Jack herded 'his' people towards his personal favorite drinking establishment. He'd rented their 'party room' and opened a tab with the owner to cover all drinks for the night. It was the least he could do.

* * *

_16 November, 2006  
06:25_

Owen's back did _not_ appreciate having spent the night on the Hub's sofa, but a mild muscle-relaxant managed to unkink most of the knots. He checked on O'Sullivan – the man was still improving, and Owen mentally adjusted his projected wake-up to mid-afternoon at the latest – then busied himself gathering bottles of water and single-dose packets of Panadol. He left one of each at everyone's workstations, then headed up to Jack's office.

Jack was already awake. He was obsessively cleaning the coral he kept on his desk, using a fine-bristled paintbrush. "Jack," Owen said, his tone somewhere between 'what are you doing' and 'have you lost what little mind you've got left'.

Jack looked up. "Morning, Owen. Sleep well?"

"Not particularly," Owen replied. "We really need a new couch."

The captain let out a small chuckle. "Could be," he agreed. "Need anything in particular?"

Owen offered him the paracetamol and water. Jack took the water, but declined the painkiller. "No need. Only had the one drink all night."

"Surprising," Owen commented.

"Not really," Jack said, opening the bottle of water and taking a swallow. He then trickled a tiny amount into the gravel surrounding his coral. "I get drunk and I tend to babble. Somewhat of a security risk, that. So I don't drink much, particularly not in public."

"Suppose I can see the sense in that," Owen allowed. "But I can't see the sense in watering a piece of decorative coral. What the hell are you doing?"

"It's not really coral, Owen," Jack replied, focusing on using the paintbrush to remove microscopic flecks of dust from its porous surface. "Real coral needs a saltwater aquarium to live in."

"That was kind of my point, Jack," Owen said. "Why water a decoration?"

"She needs it, is why," Jack explained.

"'She'?" Even a deaf man could have heard Owen's skepticism.

Jack sat the paintbrush down and beckoned Owen closer. "Come here." Owen moved to the side of Jack's desk. Jack took his wrist and guided his hand to the coral's base. "Close your eyes and open your mind," he said.

Owen followed Jack's instructions, feeling marginally like an idiot, until his hand came into contact with the oh-so-very-not-a-chunk-of-coral. It _wasn't_ sandpapery like the dried-out coral he'd seen in an aquarium gift shop years before. It was warm – warmer than being under a full-spectrum bulb could account for – and slightly moist and felt _smooth_, despite how it looked. There was a faint vibration coming from it, too.

"Can you hear her?" Jack asked, whispering.

Owen started to shake his head, but halted mid-motion. Just on the very edge of audibility, he could hear… _something_. Melodious and complex and jarring and right but not right with overtones of eternity punctuated by tinkling bells of now. "Is… Is that _singing_?" he asked, opening his eyes.

"Yeah," Jack replied, grinning. "She sings."

Owen reluctantly pulled his hand away. "Okay," he said. "So. Not coral."

"Nope," Jack agreed, picking up the paintbrush and returning to his task.

"Gonna tell me _what_ she is, then?"

"Nope," Jack repeated, still grinning.

Owen rubbed his palm against his jeans and tried to shake off the strangeness. He wasn't too successful, but he'd also been working for Torchwood long enough to know that it would fade in time.

"Did you need something else?" Jack asked, after Owen failed to leave.

Dragging his gaze from the not-coral to Jack's face, he shook his head and forcibly refocused himself. _Now's as good a time as any. The others won't be in until later, I'm sure._ "Yeah," he said. "Tosh was digging in the archives a couple of days ago and asked me to check if she was hallucinating."

Jack looked up from the coral. "Why?"

"'Cause she found a picture she couldn't believe. Had me and Ianto both verify she actually was seeing what she thought she was."

"Oh?"

Owen rolled his eyes. "Don't do that."

"What?"

"Act like you have no idea what she might've seen, Jack."

Jack shrugged, "But I _don't_ know what she saw, now do I?"

"Don't be an ass. It was a photograph, from 1907. _You_ were in the background."

"Couldn't have been me," Jack tried to argue. "I mean – just how old do I _look_?"

Owen glared at his boss. "That's the reason we knew it was you, Jack. You look exactly the same now as in that photograph."

"Must've been misfiled then," Jack said.

It was a noble effort, plausible, Owen had to give him that. But ultimately untrue. "Bullshit. There's photos of you scattered through most of the files in the archives, Jack, with mentions of you going all the way back to 1899. Don't insult my intelligence." Jack just smirked at him. "Damn it, Jack – if I can handle a fucking brain-eating alien parasite killing Katie, if I can handle Jenny being an entirely different fucking _species_ from the fucking _future_, don't you think I can handle whatever secret it is you've got floating around?"

Jack sat the paintbrush down again. "And just what do you think my 'secret'," he used finger-quotes around the word, "actually is?"

Owen shrugged. "Well, Tosh thinks you're from the future, like Jenny, with some sort of delayed aging. My vote is for alien." Jack laughed. More than just laughed – he all but roared with mirth. Owen sighed. "Fine," he said. "No need to press it, Jack. Just tell me where we're wrong."

"Oh, where do I begin? So close, and yet so very far from the truth." Jack said, scrubbing a hand across his face.

"Where'd we get it wrong?" Owen repeated, his tone clearly telling Jack that he wasn't going to let this go, and it was either come clean _now_, or Owen would wind up bringing it up in front of _everyone_. Jack was uniquely acquainted with that particular tone.

"First of all, I'm _human_… well, mostly."

"What does that even mean, 'mostly'?"

"It means, Owen, that my kep'kainu was Cassavalian." Seeing Owen's confusion, Jack took pity on him and explained, "My great-grandfather, Owen. Dad's mom's dad, to be precise." Jack leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet up onto the corner. "You know, I would have bet money that this particular conversation wouldn't have happened had Jenny not shown."

Owen shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. You're not going to sidetrack me, not this time, Harkness. So, if your great-grandpa wasn't human, that'd mean you're _part_ alien. That why you've apparently been around for the last hundred-plus years?"

Jack's smile faded. "No. Cassavalians are actually shorter-lived than humans. They tend to die of old age between thirty and forty years old, unless they take some drastic measures – convert bits of themselves to machine-based life."

"Go on," Owen urged.

"A bit you all managed to get right is that I'm from the future," Jack admitted. "A millennium before Jenny's time. The fifty-first century."

"Did you crash through the rift, too?"

Jack shook his head. "No. A _very_ long time ago, I was a Time Agent. This," he indicated his wrist-strap, "was how I bounced from one time/place to another. I wound up stuck in the year two-hundred-one-hundred – that's a hundred and ninety-eight thousand years from now – and entered the coordinates for London, 2004, hoping to catch up with a friend of mine. It malfunctioned and I wound up here, in Cardiff, in 1869. Damn thing hasn't worked properly since."

"If that's true, and you really are, well, _mostly_ human, then why haven't you died?"

"I have," Jack said, his voice flat.

"Bullshit."

"Nope," Jack replied, popping the P. "I just don't stay that way for long. Don't ask me how or why, but ever since I got here, I can't stay dead and I age so slowly that most people can't notice it."

Owen was tempted to call 'bullshit' again, but he knew Jack and had played poker often enough with the man to be familiar with his tells. _He's not lying_. Owen felt a little light-headed. "I suppose that explains why, regardless of the injury, you never see me about it."

Jack shrugged. "Less than fatal injuries usually heal within six hours or so. Faster, if I concentrate on it."

"And you don't _stay dead_. What does that even mean?" Owen asked, but he wasn't altogether certain he really wanted to know.

"Exactly what it sounds like, Owen," Jack replied, suddenly sounding weary. "I've died. More times than I can count, actually. I've been shot, strangled, hanged, starved, frozen, dismembered, stabbed, drowned, electrocuted –"

"Ianto's girlfriend," Owen muttered, closing his eyes. "_Knew_ there was something fishy about that."

Jack sighed and removed his feet from his desk. Sitting properly, he calmly met Owen's eyes as they slowly opened. "This gonna be a problem?"

Owen's first impulse was to say 'no', but he took a moment to think about it. Eventually, he shook his head. "I don't _think_ so, but… Gimme time, yeah?"

"Sure," Jack replied, picking up the paintbrush once more and returning to his not-coral.

Owen took that as his cue to leave.

* * *

**A/N2:** Do I have to note that I also don't own 'The Parting Glass'? Thought not – the version I quoted herein belongs to The Wailin' Jennys, but there are numerous versions out there for your listening pleasure. Be warned, however – I've yet to hear a version of it that _doesn't_ invoke melancholia in its listeners.

And for us Americans, 'Panadol' is an overseas version of 'Tylenol', just so y'all know, of course.

Please lemme know what y'all think. Thanks in advance.


	11. A Camping We Will Go

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'Torchwood'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** And now, on to 'Countrycide', wherein I hope I manage to _earn_ my 'M' rating. Enjoy!

* * *

**Synchronicity**

_Chapter Eleven: A Camping We Will Go  
_

_19 November, 2006  
05:54_

Jack finished making addendums to the file, bound in a plastic three-ring binder, then slowly closed its red cover. "One more," he said, then let out a long exhale. _ It's past time, I think. Should have been checking more closely all year, but there hadn't been _any_ back at the beginning of June... And what with the rift absolutely _hating_ Hartman's 'ghosts' and then T1 fell and the weevils began showing up in greater numbers than ever… We've done nothing but _run_ for months now. Then Jenny showed, and we suddenly started having some downtime… Huh. I wonder if it's coincidental or if the two are somehow related? Think on it later – you've got work to do._

He checked his watch. "Donuts," he muttered, standing. "Definitely donuts." He grabbed his coat, then headed out of the Hub. About an hour later, and he returned with two boxes of fresh-made goodies – a dozen double-glazed hiding in one and a dozen filled with a variety of jams and creams in the other. He set them on the table, then returned to his office and started working on scanning necessary information from the red file into his wrist-strap.

Ianto arrived as he usually did, promptly at seven. Jack finished up his self-appointed task, then returned the red binder to its place on the narrow, short bookshelf that supported his printer – between similar ring binders in a variety of colors that housed his other personal projects. He walked to the conference room and kicked back in the end chair that faced the monitor on the wall. Ianto appeared in short order with his morning coffee. Jack accepted it and helped himself to a donut. "Gonna need to order more chairs," he said, indicating the reasonably-comfortable padded chairs that surrounded the table. There were only six of them, and he now had – counting himself – _ten _employees. It was a record for Torchwood Cardiff.

"I've already taken the liberty of adding additional seating to the monthly requisition, sir," Ianto replied. "Along with PDAs. However, you will need to submit a special requisition if you decide to order a second vehicle."

"Thanks," Jack said around a mouthful of double-glazed goodness, "And it's not a bad idea, having a second car on hand. Probably have to wait until after the start of the new year, though." He gestured to the donut boxes. "Have some breakfast. Soon as the rest get here, have 'em come up. Briefing."

"Sir," Ianto replied, nodding. "Are there any chocolate creams?" he asked, opening the second box.

"Far left, I think," Jack said, pointing his half-eaten donut at the box.

Ianto bent and peered all around the donuts lying in a neat row along the leftmost edge, then picked one up. A small trail of chocolate had dribbled from the hole in its side. "Thank you," he said, then headed out to tend to his morning duties.

It took three double-glazed before everyone had arrived. As expected, there were some small squabbles over the 'good chairs', the losers wound up with the ass-numbing metal folding chairs that Ianto had dragged out of a storeroom the day Malcolm had called in needing rescue.

Jack waited patiently until everyone had been supplied with a Ianto-beverage and a donut for those who wanted one, then cleared his throat, silencing the quiet conversations taking place. "Morning. First off, I got a report from the night nurse at the rehab center and Connor O'Sullivan is settled in nicely and already driving the staff a little crazy." Liam leveled an 'I told you so' look at Owen. Jack ignored the byplay and went straight to why he'd called the meeting. "Next, I've something we ought to look into. Some background," he said, hitting the controls on his Vortex Manipulator that dimmed the lights and turned on the flatscreen monitor. A photo, pulled from a personnel file, appeared. It showed a twenty-something man, with a square face, brown eyes, and close-cropped reddish-blonde hair. "Meet Gareth Bevin. Torchwood Cardiff field agent from 14 May, 1996 until the twentieth of August that same year. He took a weekend off to go visit his family in Talgarth and never arrived."

He hit another button and the image changed to show a map of Wales, Talgarth circled for the non-Welsh natives in the room. "The police looked into matters, but the case remained unsolved. We – T3, I mean – looked into it, too, but the rift was going through one of its really active phases, so we didn't get very far, either. There were only three of us working at the time and since the police hadn't found anything that would warrant Torchwood's involvement, the issues presented by the rift took precedence. Gareth's dissappearance bugged me, though, and so I did some digging on my own time."

"What did you find?" Brigit asked, peeling her custard-filled pastry apart.

"Every ten years, people go missing," Jack replied. He fought a smirk at seeing Brigit eat the custard out of her donut before moving on to picking the inner bits out, like a little kid eating around the crust of a sandwich.

"People go missing all the time," Liam said. "Get to the point where this is a Torchwood matter, if you please."

"Like I said, these people go missing every ten years. It's like clockwork. And the only thing that I could find in common was that they all would have passed through," he hit another button, and the circle on the map moved, "Brecon Beacons National Park." He finished off his coffee, then continued, "So far this year, seventeen people have disappeared in the park, most recently two nights ago. In 1996, a total of thirty-five people went missing. In 1986, the count was thirty-eight. In 1976, it was twenty-four. On and on and on as far back as I could find records."

"Do you think it's the rift?" Tosh asked, dipping her own double-glazed in her coffee. "I thought it didn't extend more than a mile or so across Cardiff itself."

"You're right, it doesn't spread that far," Jack confirmed. "However, I think it might ultimately be responsible. There are quite a number of alien species that have… call it a really _odd_ circadian rhythm."

"A species that what? Hibernates for ten years?" Deirdre asked. She was the only one who'd turned down a donut. Jack idly wondered if she had an eating disorder – _She's skinny enough_. "Then goes hunting?"

"It's an idea," Jack said, nodding. "It wouldn't be the first time the rift had spit out a creature that then high-tailed it for new environs."

"How'd the police miss that pattern? Dozens of people going missing every ten years?" The question came from a yawning Teague. "Aren't they _trained_ to notice stuff like that?"

"The victims are from all over," Jack explained, changing the image one more time. It now displayed a map of the whole of the UK, with countless little colored dots scattered across its surface. The only areas really devoid of spots were those where there wasn't much of a population to begin with. It also had a short list of other countries' names down the far right, including _Spain_, _France_, and the _United States_, among others. "_That's_ how they missed it. With as overworked as they tend to be, do _you_ think they'd manage to link a twenty year old Swansea student gone missing on holiday with an American pensioner-turned-tourist? Or either of them with a thirty-nine year old shopkeeper from London?" Jack shook his head. "_I_ almost missed the pattern, and I was _looking_ for weird stuff. Keep in mind, these disappearances are just a tiny fraction of the number of missing-persons reports filed in any given year, let alone the number of reports filed each _decade_." He paused for a moment, inwardly debating another donut, but decided to leave the rest for his team. "Anyway, this means we're gonna be taking a little field trip. Since the SUV only seats five and I'm definitely going, I need four volunteers." He looked at Brigit and Kieran. "Sorry you two, but field agents only."

"No problem," Brigit said. "I'd much rather stay." Kieran just shrugged nonchalantly and pulled a random donut from the filled-box.

At the opposite end of the table, Jenny and Teague exchanged a quick glance, then raised their hands, broad smiles on both faces. "Okay," Jack said, then looked at his resident doctors. "Would like a medic with us, just in case."

"I bloody well _hate_ the country," Owen grumbled.

One of Liam's eyebrows twitched slightly. "Doesn't bother me," he said. "I'll go."

"That makes three," Jack said, looking at Tosh, Deirdre, and Ianto. "Need one more volunteer, guys." The three remaining field agents were studiously _not_ looking at him. "Come on – don't make me _pick_."

Deedee let out an explosive sigh. "Oh, for the love of –" she tapped Tosh's shoulder with one long-fingered hand and Ianto's with the other. She made a fist and leveled a challenging smirk at Tosh. Rock beat scissors, and Tosh – the loser – turned to Ianto while Deedee leaned back with a relieved smirk. It took four tries since Tosh and Ianto kept picking the same thing before Tosh's paper wrapped Ianto's rock.

Ianto slumped in his chair. "Joy," he muttered.

"Oh, show a little enthusiasm for your job, lad," Kieran chided, grinning at the three supposed adults sitting across from him. He punctuated his comment by taking a bite from his donut. A splotch of raspberry jam landed on his pale blue polo. He wiped it off with a broad thumb, then popped the splotch into his mouth.

Ianto straightened up, plastered a sarcastic smile on his face, and just as dryly growled, "Joy."

"Much better!" Kieran chuckled.

_Yeah, they're fitting in just perfectly_, Jack thought, grinning at his team's antics. "Okay then. Jenny, T, Ianto, and Liam. Ianto, you might want to run home and grab clothes you won't need dry-cleaned. Jeans and hiking boots, if you have them. Same goes for you, Dr. O'Kelly." Though the doctor wasn't wearing a suit, he was wearing plain trousers and a button-down white shirt with leather loafers. Perfectly suitable for most situations they might come across in Cardiff, but not well-suited to traipsing through a national park. "Be back by nine. Jenny, T, you two are gonna help me get the gear we'll need outta storage."

Jack gave in to temptation and grabbed a fourth donut. "Tosh, you stick close to the coms while we're away. Might need info in a hurry, and you're still the fastest typist we've got."

"Will do," she promised. "How long do you think you'll be gone?"

"Likely a couple of days at the least," Jack replied, then bit his donut in half. "Ehf id luks ayek wr gnna be awnger, Ah wl led oo noh."*

Tosh nodded and took her half-eaten breakfast with her as she headed down to her workstation. That served as a cue for everyone else to disperse. Jenny and Teague waited until Jack had finished wolfing down his donut, then stood. Jack got up and led them down to storeroom W.

It took far longer to locate the gear Jack wanted with them than he had anticipated. Ianto and Liam had returned before he'd even managed to dig out the tents he'd stored. Ianto had changed into a comfortable-looking pair of worn jeans, topped with multiple layers, the outermost of which was a light grey all-weather jacket. Liam looked even more comfortable, and Jack was pretty sure the man was an avid hunter in his spare time – the Belfast survivors' personal effects had been dug out of storage and delivered a couple of days earlier – Liam was wearing what had been top-of-the-line for fowlers in 1976, with layers of insulated denim and flannel. "Forget the shotgun?" Jack couldn't quite keep the joke from escaping.

The doctor's eyebrows inched towards each other. "I thought it best left behind," he replied. "Though I won't turn down one of your .45s."

"We'll get to those," Jack promised, trying to figure out if O'Kelly was joking about the shotgun or not. "First, though, d'you know what a folded-up camp bed looks like?"

"Served in Korea," Liam said. "So I should think so."

With two more sets of hands, the search through the accumulated clutter of 'possibly useful outdoorsy things' that Jack had accumulated over the course of his tenure at Torchwood went slightly faster. From start to finish, however, it still took nearly five hours to locate and check all the gear. Hauling one of the massive tents up to the SUV, Jack wrangled it into the car and thought, _I'm gonna need to see about replacing some of this stuff. Yeah, it's still serviceable, but it's _heavy_ and takes up way too much room. Is it all even gonna fit?_ It took some creative packing, but all the gear did indeed fit in the SUV's cargo area, though it didn't leave much room for anything else.

They piled themselves into the SUV at just past 1300. A quick stop at a grocery store ensured they wouldn't starve for a few days, and then Jack pulled the car onto the A470. Five minutes later, Teague asked, "How far is it to where we're going?"

"About an hour or so," Ianto replied after a quick consult with the GPS. He'd gotten stuck riding in the middle, and so had a clear line-of-sight to the gadget.

"I don't think I've ever spent that much consecutive time in a vehicle before," Teague said, then looked out the window. It was about thirty seconds before the leg next to Ianto began jittering up and down.

"Do you mind?" Ianto snapped, after a full minute of gritting his teeth ever-tighter.

Teague whipped his head around and asked, "Huh?"

"The leg thing."

Glancing down, Teague realized what was irritating Ianto and ceased the motion. He loosened his seatbelt and pulled the offending limb up to sit on his ankle. "Better?"

Ianto didn't reply.

About ten minutes later, Jenny began humming. She'd had Pink Floyd's _The Great Gig in the Sky_ stuck in her head ever since they'd located the tent-poles.

Ianto tolerated this for all of twenty seconds before snapping, "Jenny!"

"What?" she blinked at him, confused. "I'm not moving, I swear!"

"You were humming."

"Was I?"

"Yes," Ianto ground out. "You were _humming_." He said the word as though it were a synonym for 'fucking a rotting octopus'.

"Sorry," she replied. "I'll stop."

Jack grinned, but managed to successfully stifle the urge to laugh. _What's particularly funny is that I honestly think they're_ not_ doing it on purpose._ He glanced out the corner of his eye to see if Liam would be up next on the Annoy-Ianto Special Program. _Nope. I think he's asleep._ Liam had adjusted the passenger-side seat to as far back as it would go – luckily, Jenny was sitting behind him – and had his arms crossed over his chest with his chin resting on his breastbone, breathing evenly, and eyes closed.

It took another five minutes before Ianto calmly said, "Cullen, if you don't learn to control your fidgeting limbs, I _will_ shoot you."

From the sound, Jack was relatively certain Teague had been drumming his fingers against the arm rest. Clearing his throat, he said, "No, T – Ianto _won't_ shoot you."

"I will," Ianto promised. "I don't even care that I'll have to clean up after. I _will_ shoot you."

"Ianto, if anyone's gonna shoot one of you, it'll be _me_ shooting _you_. Quit annoying your driver," Jack teased. "Why don't you three play a game? Something like, oh I don't know, twenty questions or something."

"That's an actual game?" Jenny asked, sounding a little surprised.

"Yep," Jack said. "Someone thinks of something, and you take turns asking yes or no questions about what it is, and whoever gets the right answer first wins."

"Sounds interesting," Jenny said. "What d'you think? Wanna give it a try?"

"Not particularly," Ianto replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But if it will keep _you_ from humming and _that one_ from fidgeting, I'll try anything."

"Okay, who goes first?" Jenny sounded far too eager to play a kid's game, but Jack chalked it up to her eternal enthusiasm for… well, just about _everything_.

"I will," Jack said. "Teague, you ask first, then Ianto, then Jenny."

"Okay," Teague agreed. "Animal, vegetable, or mineral?"

The game actually managed to keep the 'children' occupied until they reached their destination. Jack pulled the SUV off of the narrow country road and parked it at an angle to a snack van**.

Ianto dragged himself out of the SUV and headed straight for the promise of hot food and the possibility of coffee while Jack dug out a map of Brecon Beacons National Park. He checked the information he'd saved to his wrist-strap, then did a few mental calculations.

Jenny spent a moment stretching out cramped muscles, then pulled herself onto the bonnet of the SUV, next to Jack's spread-out map. Teague performed a similar series of stretches, but only laid a hand on the still-hot bonnet before pulling it back with a hiss. "How can you tolerate sitting on _that_?" he asked.

Jenny shrugged, and pulled the elastic from her hair. "Doesn't bother me," she said, retying her ponytail.

Liam seemed to wake up. Seeing they were parked, he unfolded himself from the car and let out a groan as his back made a noise similar to popping popcorn. A quick twist in either direction, pushing against the side of the car, made a louder series of cracking noises from his spine. He ignored the winces from T and Jenny as he took two steps to lean a thigh against the front fender across from Jack. "I thought I'd wind up hearing you tell them to 'quit it or I'll turn this car around'," he commented.

Jack still couldn't tell if the man was joking or serious, but grinned anyway. "I was sorely tempted, _believe_ me." He looked down to the map. "So, seventeen disappearances within the last five months. Last known whereabouts for the few I could check definitively was roughly here," he said, indicating one particular section of the park.

"That's what? A twenty mile radius?" Teague asked, peering around Jenny.

Jack nodded. "Close enough," he said. "The most recent victim was Ellie Johnson. Her mobile dropped mid-call about here," he pointed to a less vague area, "according to the provider. Would be a good place to set up camp."

Ianto returned with a stack of burgers in one hand and a cup of horrible coffee in the other. He handed out the burgers while Jenny studied the map. "I've never been camping," she commented, accepting her burger from Ianto and handing the map back to Jack.

Jack shrugged, "It's a human thing. Never met another species that went camping. Kind of a hard concept to describe, too. 'Well, camping is when you already have a perfectly nice home with all the amenities, but you willingly sleep outside, eat crap food, and suffer sunburn, rain, bug bites, and rashes of various natures. Most times, you wind up actually _paying_ for the privilege.' Trust me, it does _not_ translate well at all."

Jenny bit into her burger and mulled the idea over while she chewed. "Hmm… The concept doesn't have a word in Galactic Standard, and I'd thought GS had words for every concept there was… Let's see. It's primarily a human pleasure pastime, so it'd use the prefix of 'kresh', yeah?"

Jack shrugged. "I'd think more 'kritch', what with the implied general misery."

"No, I thought 'kritch' was more along the lines of 'pain/pleasure'," Jenny argued. "Like laughing until you cry, or some of the more questionable activities that go on in the Lotus Nebula."

"'S why I thought it suited camping," Jack grinned.

Teague and Liam were both watching their debate like it was a more intellectual version of a football match, though Ianto didn't seem to be paying any attention; he'd retreated to his seat in the SUV to eat his burger and drink his – admittedly horrible – coffee in relative peace.

"But don't most people who go camping actually _like_ it?" Jenny replied.

"Yeah," Jack agreed, "but those 'questionable activities' you mentioned have participants just as willing."

Jenny ate another bite as she thought about it. "Okay, I'll give you 'kritch'. Now, outdoors would be 'sel', and 'nirnanak' for 'living', right?" She named the specific variant of the word that indicated the day-to-day activities of life such as sleeping, eating, and so forth.

Jack nodded in agreement. "So, if we put it all together, the concept of camping in GS would be 'kritch nirnanak'sel'. But that only describes the _general _concept. It doesn't specify 'camping in tents' or 'camping in a camper van' or 'backpacking' or any of the other variations."

"So I'll work on it," Jenny said, quickly polishing off the last of her food. "I might need a list of those variations you mentioned, though."

Liam spoke before Jack could, "As an outdoors-enthusiast, Miss Thomas, I would be happy to assist you… If you would explain to me just what it is you are doing."

Jenny gave a brief overview on the complexities of Galactic Standard as he, Jack, and T finished their own meals. After tossing greasy wrappers and used paper napkins in the trash, they piled back into the SUV and headed to their soon-to-be campsite.

It took nearly two hours to get the tents erected and most of their gear situated, during which time Jenny kept up a steady dialogue with Liam regarding the root words she was using to craft Galactic Standard names for camping-specific actions and gear. Jack left them to it and headed off to gather some firewood – sunset was rapidly approaching. He'd barely started when he caught a glimpse of motion out of the corner of his eye.

He unsnapped the cover on his holster as he knelt to pick up one end of a dry branch. Placing one foot at the halfway point, he _pulled_ and the branch snapped cleanly in half, leaving a bat-length of wood in his left hand.

Another flash of motion, this time on the opposite side had him surreptitiously retrieving his Webley as he stooped to 'pick up' the other end of the snapped branch.

He purposefully fumbled the end he held, and the dark shape he'd spotted through the trees darted directly in front of him. Standing, gun in hand, he sprinted after the figure.

Jack only managed maybe two hundred meters in pursuit before losing sight of the figure. He skidded to a halt, nearly stepping on a stained white bundle lying at the base of a tree. He let out a wordless yell of frustration and smacked the tree trunk as though it were responsible, then holstered his gun. "Fast, whatever it is," he muttered. Looking down, he noticed that the cloth bundle sported dirt-stains, yes, but suspiciously rusty-red ones, too. _Not a good sign._

Using the toe of his boot, he flipped the cloth back, revealing a body that was made of nothing more than blood-stained bone and sinew. _Been here at least a day or two,_ he noticed – flies had already found the carcass and were buzzing around it in a small cloud while their wriggling white offspring feasted on the scant flesh available. _What could have done this?_ He looked around, mentally marking the location, then hurried back to camp.

"Found a body," he announced as his team's conversation halted on his arrival.

"Show me where," Liam immediately replied.

"This way," Jack said. "Ianto – grab the crime scene tape."

While they waited for Ianto to retrieve a field kit from the supplies, Jack saw as Liam leveled a hard look at Teague. The other Belfast survivor rolled his eyes, but nodded. T then made a show of looking at first his watch, then at the sky. "Body or no body," he said, "we've probably only got about ninety minutes of daylight left." He turned to look at Jenny. "How about the two of us gather that firewood, then?"

Jack knew he had a point – there really wasn't much left of the day – and he didn't want to waste time arguing, so he said, "Good idea. Unless there's the possibility of being hit by artillery or bullets, I hate having a cold camp."

"Okay," Jenny said, agreeing to the logic if nothing else. She started to head towards the tree line, but halted after only a couple of steps. "Oh! We left the torches in the car. Might want to take one with us, just in case."

Jack tossed her the keys, then motioned for Liam and Ianto to follow him. Once they were safely out of earshot, he said, "It's nice to see that chivalry isn't dead, Liam, but Jenny can take care of herself. She wouldn't be a field agent if she couldn't."

"I stand by my decision, Captain," Liam replied. "I don't care that you disagree. Little girls like that and dead bodies shouldn't mix."

"It's a noble sentiment," Jack said, agreeing in part with Liam's point of view. "However, Jenny is far more than she appears."

"Dr. Harper let me look through the information on her species, so I understand what you're not saying – specifically, that she is a member of our organization thanks to her unique biology and knowledge-base," Liam calmly replied, "but in speaking with her, her innocence and naiveté become blatantly apparent. I repeat – I stand by my decision."

Jack halted in his steps, nearly causing Ianto to run into him. He reached out and grabbed the doctor's wrist. "Look, Liam, I know she tends to come across as a bit of a kid, so I'll give you a pass on that – though if she were to hear you, _she_ wouldn't – but she is a fully-qualified _field agent_ for a _reason_ and it _isn't _ because she's not human, nor because she's out of her time."

Liam pulled his arm out of Jack's grasp. "So what _is_ the reason?"

"She is one of the best fighters I've ever known," Jack explained. "You've seen the weevils we keep in the cells, yes?" Liam nodded. "She put three of them in there herself. _Without_ assistance." Since neither Jack nor Jenny required much in the way of sleep, they had spent several evenings quietly tending to the numerous weevils within Cardiff. Nights not spent weevil-hunting were often spent working on her telepathy or simply having conversations in their native Galactic Standard. He didn't bother explaining any of this to the man, however. "She doesn't need protecting. However, _you_ might, if you persist in treating her like a helpless 'little girl'."

Liam's eyebrows twitched closer together and a hint of a frown flashed over his face. "I'll take your words under advisement, Captain, however it may take a while to put the theory into practice."

Jack let the subject drop, and they continued to the body in silence.

* * *

Jenny and Teague watched as Liam, Ianto, and Jack disappeared into the tree line. After a couple of seconds, Jenny asked, "So, what was that look?"

"What look?" Teague made a good show of not knowing what she was talking about.

Jenny rolled her eyes at him and hit the button on the keyfob to open the SUV's boot. "You know perfectly well which look I mean, T – that look Liam gave you before you volunteered us to go after firewood."

"Oh, _that_ look."

"Yeah," she dryly said, "that look."

T shrugged and gave her a sheepish little smile. "Liam's kinda old-fashioned, Jenny. Since you're not a nurse, he wouldn't want you having to see a dead body outside of a funeral."

"That so?"

"Yes," T said, drawing the word out into three or four syllables. "Try not to take it personally. He's just trying to be a gentleman."

"And?"

T blinked at her, a little confused. "And what?"

"So he's rather prejudiced. What's your excuse?"

"Huh?"

Jenny rolled her eyes again, punctuating it with a stamp of her foot. "Why'd you go along with it?"

Rather than answer, Teague redirected the question. "Well, why'd the captain go along with it?"

That managed to distract Jenny rather effectively. It was her turn to let out a 'huh'. She dropped the topic to come back to once Jack were available to explain himself, and turned to the SUV. Climbing partway into the cargo area, she unlatched the compartment and was about to grab one of the LED lights when she heard an odd muffled thumping noise. "Teague?" she twisted around to see behind her.

Jenny froze on coming face-to-face with the barrel of a gun aimed squarely at her forehead. "Not one word, little pig," a harsh voice said, thumbing back the hammer on the revolver.

She nodded to agree and silently hoped the gun would drift or twitch off-center. It didn't. Instead, it remained leveled between her eyes. "Gonna go for a little ride," the voice said, the hand not holding the gun motioning for her to stand.

Jenny glanced past the gun barrel and saw nothing particularly distinctive – a man, which she'd known from the voice, wearing scuffed work boots, worn and stained jeans, and a dark grey rain cape with the hood up. A homemade mask of stained canvas covered his face, casting his eyes in shadow. A few feet away, T was sprawled on the ground. She could see he was still breathing, but that was all she could tell from where she stood.

She took all this in in a split-second. Opening a 'window' in her mental shields, she shouted for Jack, but he didn't reply. _Must be too far away._

"Give us the gun," the man said, holding out his empty hand. Jenny removed her neutron pistol from its holster on her right thigh and handed it over. The man tossed it negligently behind him without even looking at it. Keeping the gun centered directly on her unprotected head, he sidestepped in a small circle to the driver's side, then beckoned for Jenny to follow. He opened the driver's door and backwards-climbed into the SUV. "Come," he said.

Jenny followed him into the car. He sat sideways on the passenger seat. He motioned to the steering wheel. "Drive." His free hand indicated the direction he wanted her to take.

She was tempted to tell him she didn't know how. It would be the truth, after all – she really _didn't_ know how to drive a car, not technically. However, she didn't think he'd been joking when he'd told her to be quiet. If he'd been aiming anywhere but at her head, she might have risked it. Instead, she just followed orders and started the motor.

Jenny mentally compared what she'd seen Jack and Ianto and Owen doing in passing, then mimicked the average of their actions – the actions they'd all had in common. She buckled her seatbelt with one hand while scooting the seat into a position where she could reach the pedals, then moved the gear-selection lever to 'D'. _It's somewhat like flying a Tennylathe 02-12X._ The comparison was close enough. She pressed the accelerator, and the SUV shot forwards. A tight circle had it on two wheels as it hit the paved road.

Her 'captor' let out a string of cursing as he recovered from being tossed about. "Do that again, little pig, and I'll take over. Leave your cooling corpse in the boot."

"Sorry," Jenny said, focusing on the road. "Never drove before."

"Fucking cunt," the man murmured. "Just… Keep it between the lines."

_I wonder if he realizes he's given me the upper hand?_ one part of Jenny's brain thought while the rest of it was analyzing the machine she controlled and kept a look out for opportunities.

She got her chance less than a minute later. The SUV crested a hill. The road curved sharply at the base of a short cliff at the bottom of the hill. She gently pressed the accelerator harder.

The SUV hit the cliff face with a surprising amount of force.

* * *

**A/N2:** *If this sentence confuses you, try reading it aloud. Trust me.

**In the US, we call a 'snack van' a 'roach coach', 'gut truck', 'food truck', 'taco truck', or 'mobile salmonella factory' (I'll admit this last may only be what I call the damn things). Just so we're all on the same page.

In other news, it might interest you that when I find myself having difficulty conveying a specific emotional tone in my writing, I set songs to repeat in my playlist. In trying to find a suitable song for this storyline, I wound up drifting from my standby of rock – this chapter (and the next) likely would have turned out _very_ differently if not for Franz Liszt's _Danse Macabre_ (it's a classical piece, for those of you who don't already know it and it's my third-favorite piece of classical music).

And yes, before anyone asks, I quite like world-building, specifically _language_-building.

Kindly remember to lemme know what y'all think. Thanks in advance.


	12. In the Dark

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'Torchwood'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** And 'Countrycide' continues. This story-arc will conclude in chapter thirteen.

* * *

**Synchronicity**

_Chapter Twelve: In the Dark  
_

_19 November, 2006  
17:03_

The sound of a car starting interrupted Liam's examination of the carcass Jack had found. "Was that ours?" Ianto asked.

"Yeah," Jack confirmed.

The three of them sprinted back to the campsite.

"Damn it!" Jack shouted. "Jenny! Teague!"

"Over here!" Ianto called out, having found Teague.

Liam reached them first. "Looks like he took a knock to the head," he said after a perfunctory check. "Should wake on his own at any time."

Jack nodded, then raised his hands to a funnel-shape around his mouth. "Jenny!"

"Jack," Ianto grabbed the captain's attention. Jack looked over and saw that Ianto was pointing to Jenny's gun lying on the ground.

"Would she have taken off on her own?" Liam asked while he checked Teague over in a bit more detail.

"No," Jack replied, leaving no room for argument. "She wouldn't."

Ianto got out his PDA and pulled up the tracking program Tosh had developed. "Well, the SUV's stopped. Just over a mile from here. Jenny's mobile is with it."

"Anything special about where it's stopped?" Jack asked, striding over to peer at the PDA's screen.

"Not that I can see," Ianto replied.

"Got your gun?" Jack asked, retrieving his own from its holster. Ianto nodded. "How's T?" he asked, turning to Liam.

"Mild concussion," Liam replied even as Teague began to stir.

"Stay with him," Jack ordered. "Watch yourself." He turned to Ianto. "Call me if the SUV moves in the next ten minutes and keep an eye out for these two."

"Sir," Ianto nodded.

Jack took off at a ground-eating pace in the direction the SUV had gone. "You're not going with him?" Liam asked, helping T to sit up.

Ianto shook his head. "You heard him," he said, turning around. "But if he's not back with Jenny in an hour, I'll go after him."

"Good lad," the doctor said. "Give us a hand."

Working together, they helped a dazed Teague move into one of the tents. Liam stayed with him while Ianto paced outside, repeatedly looking at his PDA. After only a minute of this, he forcibly put the PDA in his pocked and headed up to the tree line. Sticking to where he could maintain a clear line of sight to the camp, he quickly gathered an armful of dry branches. He checked the PDA again after dropping the wood next to the hole that had been dug for their fire-pit. Jack's mobile phone had arrived at the SUV and was with Jenny's. He checked the time. Less than ten minutes had passed. He returned the PDA to his pocket and collected another load of firewood, then repeated this a total of four times before deciding they likely had enough.

He got a fire started, then ducked into the tent. "How's Teague?" he asked.

"Fine," Teague answered. "Liam's being a mother hen about it." Liam didn't comment, though it was fairly obvious, even in the gloom of the tent, that he wasn't about to budge on his order to Teague to take it easy. "Any word on Jenny yet?"

Ianto shook his head. "No, but Jack's mobile is reading as with hers, so I assume he's found her. What happened?"

"I don't know – we were chatting. Next thing I recall was coming-to."

Ianto sighed and returned to pacing. He'd been just about to check the PDA once again when a set of headlights swept across the clearing, coupled with the sound of a motor. Relief swept through him as he turned around. A large, boxy vehicle was rolling slowly up to the camp. _About time!_

* * *

Jenny took stock of herself. She'd hit the steering wheel with her face before the seatbelt had locked, which had resulted in a rapidly-developing goose egg on her forehead and a split lip, but otherwise she was relatively unscathed by the crash. _Think I was hurt worse after crashing through the rift – but I think I'm gonna suggest Jack upgrade to airbags. Kinda surprised we don't already have those._ She looked to her left and saw that her would-be captor hadn't fared as well. She tisked at him. "Seatbelts save lives." He was out cold.

She opened her door and got out of the car, then walked around to the passenger side. She pulled the unconscious man out, dumping him on the ground. A quick trip to the boot and she soon had him bound with the industrial-strength zip-ties they used when securing weevils. She'd also retrieved a utility knife and set about removing the man's mask and rain cape, revealing a rather ordinary-looking man with short brown hair and a scraggily attempt at a goatee.

The distant rhythm of boots against pavement stopped her from continuing – she'd been about to try and wake him up. She reached through the still-open door of the SUV and grabbed the guy's gun from where it had fallen on the floor. _Lucky it didn't go off when we crashed._ It was still cocked.

Crouching behind the door, she waited in the gathering twilight.

Jack's distinctive form crested the hill and she carefully un-cocked the pistol. It didn't fit in her holster, so she tucked it in the waist of her jeans as she walked around to sit on the floor of the SUV's cargo area. "Took your time, didn't you?" she teased as Jack jogged up to her.

"What happened?" he asked.

Jenny slid off her perch and walked to the laid-out unconscious man. "This idiot had a gun on me. Knocked T out, then told me to drive. I think he might be regretting his decision," she grinned.

"You alright?" he barely glanced at the man she'd bound.

"Fine." He leveled a skeptical glare at her, then reached up and ran a finger over the lump over her eye. She let out a little hiss and ducked out of reach. "It's just a bump," she said. "I hit the steering wheel."

Jack reached into a pocket and came up with a handkerchief. "You sure you're okay?" he asked, handing it to her.

She took it and used it to wipe the trickle of tacky blood that had oozed from her split lip. She rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, _Dad_," she snarked. "I'm _fine_. Personally, I'm a bit more worried about the car."

Jack took a couple of steps back, still not totally convinced Jenny was entirely okay, but willing to let the topic rest for the moment. He looked at the SUV instead. "You do this on-purpose?" he asked.

Jenny grinned and nodded. "Yep. Had the best probability of neutralizing the threat while keeping me in one piece."

He walked around to the driver's side and turned the key. The car let out a couple of pathetic growling noises. He turned the key to 'off', then tried again. The engine coughed, then backfired, then roared to life, but had a growly undertone that – reinforced frame or no – hinted at damage. Jack mentally counted to twenty, then shut it off. "Seems alright, at least for now. We'll have it checked when we get back to Cardiff." he said. "Now, what about the guy?"

"He's out cold. It's why I thought it'd work – he didn't bother with his seatbelt," Jenny explained as Jack climbed through the car to join her.

He stared down at the man, his brain trying to figure out what was going on, why he'd tried to kidnap Jenny. He didn't particularly like the answers he was coming up with. _Unfortunately, there's no way of knowing how long he'll be unconscious. _He could see Jenny looking at him, curiosity in her expression. _Hmm…_ An idea began to form. _It's got the upside that I don't particularly care if it kills him, either._ A dark smirk crossed his face as he reached out and 'knocked' on Jenny's mental shields.

_:Yeah?:_

_:Good to see you're keeping shields in place,:_ Jack commented.

_:Well, you've thought-bombed me often enough they're starting to be automatic. Or so I think.:_ Jenny replied.

Jack nodded slowly, dark smirk still firmly in place. _:Even if you slip when I'm not looking, you're still doing better than I was at your level. Anyway, remember me telling you that I can only send or receive projected thoughts? That I can't scan someone?:_

It was Jenny's turn to nod. _:Yeah…?:_

Jack's smirk broadened into an outright grin, though it lacked his usual warmth. _:There's nothing stopping _you_ from reading him.:_ He tapped the unconscious man with the toe of his boot. _:I know the Doctor can do it. I'm pretty sure you could, too.:_

Jenny frowned at him for a moment, then shrugged. _:I guess I can try.:_

_:No, don't _try_. Just do it. I know you can.:_

"All right," she said aloud. "How…?"

Jack walked her through a similar exercise to the ones he'd been put through during his time in training for the Time Agency, before they'd found the limits of his own ability. Following his advice, Jenny knelt next to the man and laid her hand lightly against his forehead.

* * *

"Evening," a policeman greeted a _very_ disappointed Ianto. "How're you doing?"

"Fine," Ianto replied. "Can I help you with something?"

The officer nodded. "Yes," he said, holding out a photograph. "I'm looking into a missing person. This is Ellie Johnson," he handed Ianto the picture.

Ianto barely glanced at it before shaking his head and handing it back. "Sorry – haven't seen her."

The policeman clicked on a heavy-duty torch and stepped to Ianto's side. Aiming the beam of light at the photo, he said, "Are you sure?"

Ianto made a show of looking more closely at it. "No, sorry. Haven't seen her before," he managed before the light from the torch spun dizzyingly and pain exploded from a spot behind his ear.

Within the tent, Liam heard a car approach and then the following conversation. When he heard the oomph of pain in Ianto's voice, he covered T's mouth with one hand and pressed his chest down with his other. Leaning close to Teague's ear, he whispered, "Stay here. I'll see what's going on."

Teague nodded.

Liam retrieved the .45 he'd been assigned back in Cardiff, and silently thumbed the safety off, then peered through the crack where the tent-flaps didn't quite meet. He saw the policeman hefting Ianto into a fireman's carry. He brought the gun up, squared the sight, and fired.

The policeman and Ianto crumpled into a heap halfway between the fire and the policeman's vehicle.

* * *

_Flash of someone running. Like it when they try to run._

_Not an execution. They bleed so pretty. Scream like toffee._

'_Longer they hurt, boy, better it tastes when they're done.'_

_Cut here. Here. Here. Strip skin, then slice. Package for the freezer._

_Better when there's a live one._

_Fear and tears lend it a smoky flavor._

_Managed to tenderize that one but good._

_Mom and Dad proud of his first kill._

_He's good at it. Finding them. A trap is easiest for thinking prey._

Jenny wrenched herself out of the man's mind violently enough that she fell against the SUV. Jack swooped down and grabbed her shoulders. She was shaking. "Jenny?"

She shook her head. "Black joy," she said. "Can't laugh unless someone's in pain." Her mind felt as though it needed a brisk scrubbing. With bleach. And maybe a dose of retcon for afters. "His whole family." Jenny closed her eyes and made a conscious effort to calm herself. "Question, Jack."

"Yeah?" he said, still holding her shoulders.

"When a wild animal starts killing people, they put it down, right?" She opened her eyes and met Jack's.

Jack frowned slightly. "Yeah. It's what they show on all the nature documentaries, anyway."

She shrugged off Jack's hands and crawled up to the man who'd tried to abduct her. She rolled him onto his stomach, then picked up the utility knife from where she'd left it – on top of his discarded rain cape.

"Jenny?"

"You trust me?"

Jack nodded.

"Then trust that this is the right course," she said, extending the blade to its maximum and thrusting it cleanly between where the man's skull and spine met. She pulled it out and wiped it clean using the man's mask, retracted the blade, and put the knife in her back pocket.

"Jenny?" Jack all but demanded an explanation.

"There's six – five now. A family, lives in Brynblaidd. They're what's responsible, Jack," she said. "They're the cause of the disappearances." She stood. "A cleaner death than he gave his victims," she said. "More than he deserves."

Not liking how unsteady she seemed, Jack wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "If we contact the police, will they find enough evidence to convict them?"

"Probably. Parcels from the butcher all stacked neatly in their freezer."

"They _eat_ them?" Though it wouldn't have been the first time he'd come across a cannibal-type situation, his mind still tried to shy away from it.

"Yes," Jenny replied. "But more than that, they find it fun to make them _hurt_. Even pigs and chickens are tormented before killed for the table." Jack could tell that it was this aspect of what she'd seen that bothered her the most. "Don't know if calling the police would have much effect," she continued. "They keep one of their family in with them to make sure nobody suspects anything. Besides, even if they were caught, what good would come of having them put in prison?"

"It's not our area, Jenny," Jack tried to explain, but he was weirded-out enough by the situation that it was a halfhearted attempt at best. "It's not for us to decide."

Jenny stepped out from under Jack's arm and looked down at the man on the ground. "Isn't it our responsibility to protect the public from non-human threats? I don't care how you try to define it, I can't see him," she toed the body's leg with her boot, "as anything more than another inhuman threat. And there are _seven more of them_." She looked back up at Jack. "And how do we know they aren't being influenced by something truly alien to this world? If he didn't see anything, I wouldn't know about it either, would I? But it doesn't mean there _isn't_ something."

_She's got a knack for twisting definitions, doesn't she?_ Jack brushed the thought aside. _It is a valid observation, though. We _don't_ know, not with any certainty, that they're acting of their own volition._ "All right," he said. "We'll look into it."

Jenny smiled at him. There was a taint to it, though, that Jack recognized. It was the same darkness he sometimes saw in himself. _Is that because of me or has she had it all along?_ He wasn't sure which scenario he would rather it be.

* * *

Liam managed to get the policeman secured and Ianto taken care of – he had a similar mild concussion to the one plaguing Teague – before a rattling, growling motor interrupted him. He picked up his gun and peered through the tent flaps. Teague watched from his perch on a camp bed with his heart hammering in his throat. The tension eased only when Liam lowered the gun and clicked the safety on. "It's Jack and Jenny," he said, tucking the gun into his waistband.

Liam exited the tent and greeted the returning duo. "What's this?" Jack asked, hooking a thumb at the parked police SUV.

"Don't trust it's what it appears," Liam said. "Fool showed and tried taking Ianto. I shot his leg, got him trussed up in the tent. Ianto woke after only a couple of minutes, no more worse for wear than Teague. As to our visitor, he hasn't said anything."

Jenny retrieved the utility knife from her pocket and slid the blade out. "He doesn't need to talk," she said, stepping around Liam, a sense of purpose all but rolling off her in almost-visible waves.

Liam opened his mouth to ask Jack a question, but Jack just shook his head and followed the girl, a similar level of determination marking his own steps. Liam, somewhat confused, followed them into the tent.

Battery-powered lanterns hung from hooks built into the tent poles and cast a cold fluorescent light over everything. Ianto had followed Teague's example, and instead of lying down and resting, they were both sitting on their respective beds. "You alright?" Teague asked as Jenny entered.

"Yes," she replied, her voice distant. She didn't look his way, but stalked right up to the man Liam had shot. He'd been divested of his utility belt, and had his legs tied together, with his hands behind his back. Liam had cut through his trousers to bandage the deep graze his bullet had cut across the outside of his right knee. Jenny knelt next to him. "You're Huw. You do most of the gathering for your family – everyone trusts the uniform. But you'd rather hunt like your cousin, Martin, masquerading as a nightmare."

The man opened his mouth to say something, and Jenny wasted no time in stuffing a handkerchief – marred with a couple of dark orange streaks – into his mouth. "No, no, no," she chided. "Hold still, Huw." She grabbed his jaw with one hand, then closed her eyes and lightly touched his forehead with the hand that still held the utility knife.

"What's she doing?" T asked, looking to first Ianto – who shrugged – and then to Jack.

"Getting information," Jack grimly replied, standing just inside the tent with his arms crossed over his chest. Liam took a single step towards Jenny, but Jack reached out and grabbed his arm. "No. Let her."

Jenny opened her eyes and let go of the man's face. "Does Uncle Evan know you hunt on your own, Huw?" The policeman's eyes grew wide and there was a faint whistling noise from his nose as his breathing sped up. "That you hunt for your own _pleasure_ and not just his? That you've never limited yourself to his timetable?" She gently dragged the side of the utility knife's blade along the side of his face as she tisked. "He's disappointed in you, I'm certain. Aunt Helen, too. They tried _so very hard_ to raise you properly after your mum ran away, didn't they? What would they say if they knew that despite their tender care, you would much rather _play_ with your food than _eat_ it?"

The last lingering remnants of Jack's resistance to the idea of taking care of the group responsible for the string of disappearances melted away as though it had never been at the implications in what Jenny was saying. He was right on board with Jenny's plan, now. His own darkness stepped up and took control.

Jenny reached down with the utility knife and Huw flinched. She let out a dark laugh. "Oh, Huw… You and your family – you like to think yourselves wolves, hunting weaker sheep as is the law of nature. But you're _not_ wolves. You're nothing more than sewer rats, Huw. Now, run home to the nest, little rat." She slit the rope Liam had used to bind the man's legs. "Warn them if you like." She cut the rope at his wrists. Despite being freed, he didn't move, not even to take the stained handkerchief out of his mouth. "Go on, little rat." She lunged towards him, letting out a perfect copy of the hiss of an angry cat.

Huw scrambled away from her, running his back up against Jack's legs. "You get what we need?" Jack asked, removing his Webley from his holster.

"Of course."

"Good," Jack said, then shot Huw cleanly between the eyes. "Four left?"

Jenny stood and spotted her pistol on the table across the back of the tent. She grabbed it and returned it to her own holster. "Yeah. Meeting of sorts tonight. They're doing a communal lesson on butchery."

"We'll take his vehicle," Jack said, removing the empty cartridge from his gun and replacing it with an unused bullet. Looking away from Jenny, he spotted Teague and Ianto giving one another wary looks. "If you're up to it, take this piece of trash out to where that carcass is and leave it there. Pick up the tape around it, too. There's another one in the SUV – give it the same treatment. If not, I'll take care of it when we get back."

"Where do you think you're going?" Liam challenged, moving to block Jack's way.

Jack calmly met the doctor's eyes. "To make sure these disappearances _stop_."

"Jack?" Ianto's voice cut through the growing tension.

"What?" Jack replied, not looking away from Liam.

"I realize I'm not at my best at the moment, but can I assume from what Jenny's said that these disappearances are the work of a family of _people_?" Ianto rubbed at the lump on his head as he stood. "And not, as we had initially thought, anything at all to do with the rift or aliens?"

Jack finally glanced over at Ianto. "Essentially, yes," he said, somewhat grudgingly. "Though I'd rather not use the term 'people', personally. Not for a group that's been _eating_ tourists and travelers for nearly a century."

"We can debate terminology later," Ianto countered. "But if this hasn't anything to do with aliens, why are we even still here? Why not contact the police and have them take care of matters?"

"They've been getting away with this for forever, Ianto," Jenny said. "They would have happily – _gleefully_ – added both you and me to their larder. Had you realized that? Huw here," she gestured to the dead policeman, "knocked you out and was going to take you back to his freak-family, where they would have taken turns in 'tenderizing' you, then they would have hung you from a hook and bled you, before literally butchering you, wrapping up their favorite cuts in waxed paper and string."

Liam watched as Ianto grew paler with every one of Jenny's matter-of-fact words. "And then we also need to take into consideration the fact that he," he nodded to the body, "is either impersonating – or possibly _is_ – a police officer. How do we know he's the only one?" Jack shot him a questioning glance, obviously curious as to why Liam had blocked his way if he agreed with the general idea. "In addition to the fact that we can't be certain the local police can be trusted, I've found that people like this – the ones who're so broken they think it's a good idea to eat folk when there's perfectly fine beef available – they _can't_ be helped. Putting them in prison serves no purpose, and putting them into some sort of mental facility just means it's that much easier for them to escape." He looked at Jack, then said, "But there's no reason to go running off in the dark without a workable plan."

"Hey! I had a workable plan," Jack protested.

"So tell us, Captain," Liam offered, finally stepping away from the tent flaps. He took a seat next to Teague and motioned for Jack to join them on the bed Ianto had been using.

"Um…" Teague said, raising his hand a little, "Can I make a request before we get into the planning and the plotting and whatnot?"

"What?" Jack asked, a little impatiently.

"Can we move the bleeding corpse out of the tent? It's a bit unnerving."

* * *

Ianto startled awake for what he felt was the millionth time that night. Thanks to Jenny's somewhat explicit description of what Huw's family would have done to him, he kept having nightmares about it. He checked the time and saw that it was closing in on five in the morning. _Late enough to get up_, he thought, abandoning sleep for the lost cause it was.

Standing outside, he looked up at the sky, only to be met with a thick layer of darkness. Clouds had rolled in at some point during the night. He stirred up the fire, unearthing a couple of still-smoldering embers, and then carefully built it back up. Once it was burning nicely, he retrieved a kettle and set it to boil. Though Jack had packed a percolator for coffee, Ianto had brought along his French press – he was of the firm opinion that percolators were the coffee version of torture devices.

About the same time that the first batch of coffee was done brewing, Jack exited the second tent and strolled over. "Sleep well?" Jack asked, holding out a tin cup.

Ianto filled it and shook his head. "Not particularly, sir."

Jack sipped at his coffee, looking Ianto over head-to-toe. "'I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams'," he said.

"Something like that, yes," he replied, then blinked at his boss.

"What? I do read, you know," Jack felt a little defensive.

"Shakespeare, sir?" Ianto looked to the fire and tossed another stick into the flames.

"Required reading never goes away," Jack commented. "Personally, I think it's an ongoing joke at the cosmic scale – everyone's parents had to suffer Shakespeare in school, so the kids have to suffer it, too, in perpetuity."

"As valid a reason as any," Ianto replied. _Though I doubt it's why you know it well enough to quote it, Jack._

A nearly-imperceptible shift in the sky above marked the beginnings of dawn as Jenny joined them next to the fire. The bruise on her forehead had mostly healed, as had her split lip. She seemed distracted, however, so Ianto didn't say anything. A couple of minutes later, Teague and Liam joined them.

Coffee made the rounds, save for Jenny – she stuck to bottled water – and a breakfast of sorts was cobbled together from the groceries they'd brought with them. By the time everyone was done eating, the sky had grown to the distinctive silvery-grey that wouldn't deliver on its promise of precipitation any time soon.

Jack brought out his map of the area. "Okay," he said, spreading it out on the ground as everyone clustered around him. "We're here. Brynblaidd is here, just about three and a half miles away. Liam, you'll start out first, with Jenny. Keep your coms on and let us know when you get close. Ianto, you and Teague take Huw's car when they say they're in position. They should be able to direct you to a decent place once you get there. I'll circle around and come in from here," he indicated the far side of the village. "Any questions?"

There were none.

"Okay, then, let's see if we can't get home by dark."

* * *

**A/N2:** This particular arc has been extremely fun to play with, and I've not even gotten to the good bits yet. I hope you are all enjoying reading it as much as I've been enjoying writing it.

Kindly lemme know what y'all think. Thanks in advance.


	13. A More Dreadful Record

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'Torchwood'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** Today's chapter title is an excerpt from a quote by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle; the full quote is, "It is my belief, Watson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside," and is from _The Adventure of the Copper Beeches_, found in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

**Synchronicity**

_Chapter Thirteen: A More Dreadful Record_

_20 November, 2006  
08:19_

Liam walked alongside the blonde girl, glancing over at her from time to time as they made their way through the forest. The scene from the night before kept repeating in small segments in his mind. _'Does Uncle Evan know you hunt on your own, Huw? That you hunt for your own_ pleasure _and not just his?'_ The double-meaning of the word had conjured up mental images of practices that were just as stomach-twisting as cannibalism. _' That you've never limited yourself to his timetable?' _The cold glint of the fluorescent lanterns shining on the utility knife as she traced his face temporarily superimposed itself over a slightly dimmer glint of cloud-diffused sunlight off of the girl's handheld computer_. 'What would they say if they knew that despite their tender care, you would much rather _play _with your food than _eat _it?' _More of those stomach-twisting images flitted through his mind. If he were truly honest with himself, he couldn't fault the girl her single-minded determination to make the man squirm, though he found it unsettling in the extreme. _She didn't hit him; didn't cause any physical pain whatsoever. Just _touched_ him, and _gently_ at that. The only physical threat was that bloody knife, and she made sure it was never at an angle to even accidentally scratch him. But he was scared of her anyway. Not that I blame him, but in his case, it was what she _said_, not the implied threat of what she _did_._ He glanced over at the girl again.

Currently, she was absent-mindedly avoiding roots and trees while focusing on her little handheld computer. She wore a small frown of concentration, and every now and then Liam could hear her mutter a string of quiet syllables he couldn't understand.

"If you've got questions, Liam, ask them," Jenny commented, glancing up from her computer. She gave him an encouraging smile.

"Unnerving," the word leapt from his mouth without first consulting his brain.

Jenny entered one last series of commands into her computer, but didn't put it back in the pouch attached to the back of her belt. "What is?" she asked, leaning against the trunk of a tree.

"You," Liam replied. _Honesty is the best policy, isn't it?_ "Last night."

"What about it?" she asked, still smiling faintly.

Liam let out a sigh, unsure how to phrase what he had been intending to say. He continued towards Brynblaidd. After a half-dozen steps, he heard Jenny catch up. He glanced at her again and found she was fiddling with her computer once more. "What are you doing?"

"Finalizing some composite sketches," Jenny replied. "And… there. I think that'll do it." She punctuated her announcement by hitting a couple of commands on the tiny screen. "Now, I'll send it off to Tosh – she can then forward it to Ianto's mobile."

"Why not send it directly to him yourself?"

"My MPEA can't interface directly with the mobile phone network," Jenny explained. "It's frustrating, but it's a limitation inbuilt to its operational software that's been resistant to… modifications."

Liam sidestepped around a hole in the forest floor – _Fox den_, his brain couldn't help but notice – and was a touch frustrated himself. _World's move on and on from where I left it last. Always hate having to play catch-up, but that's all I've been doing lately. Maybe you should have considered the option of leaving Torchwood, Liam. It's not as though they really need you, not any more. Not with all the brilliant people they already have on hand… the younger and more easily adaptable people_. He glanced at the blonde one more time. _However, if you left, where else would you get the opportunity to study so unique an individual ever again? And it isn't just the fact that she's – how'd Dr. Harper put it? 'Not local'? Yeah, I think that's right. It isn't _just_ that. She truly is an extraordinary person._ "I feel I ought to apologize, Miss Thomas," Liam said as Jenny ducked a low-hanging branch without taking her eyes from her computer.

"Oh? What for?"

"For being a stubborn man set in my ways," he replied.

"Is this about keeping me from helping with that body Jack found yesterday?"

"Partially," Liam admitted. "I couldn't see why you would be a field agent. You…" he cast about, searching for the right words. "You just seem so… young," he concluded, not entirely happy with the word.

Jenny shrugged at him and tucked the computer into its pouch at the back of her belt. "I can't really dispute that. But I don't think that's really what you meant, is it?"

"No," Liam agreed. "I suppose not." He let out a sigh. "I just don't know quite how to phrase what I really mean."

They paused in speaking long enough to climb over a fallen tree. "Well, how about this? You give me a list of all the words that are close to what you mean, and I'll see if I know the one you're looking for?" Jenny offered. "I promise I won't take offense, no matter what words you come up with." She favored him with her best 'trying to help' smile.

"I'm not too sure about that," Liam said. "It's a good idea, yes, but…"

"I _promise_ I won't be offended," Jenny repeated. "There is absolutely nothing you could say I've not heard before, in one translation or another. I bet I can even pick out a few of the words for you."

"Oh?" Liam used a small branch to push a thorny bramble out of the way, then held it aside for the girl. "Feel free to try."

Jenny smirked. "Okay. How close are these: Innocent. Naïve. Inexperienced. Sweet. Guileless. Unsophisticated. Artless –"

"Yeah, you can stop right there," Liam said with a slightly guilty expression.

The girl let out a small laugh. "Like I said, Dr. O'Kelly – I've heard them all before. But here's where they're wrong: Those descriptions only really apply to how I _look_. More so now than ever before, I think, what with the current cultural influences. The English-speaking portion of twenty-first century Earth, in particular, is less than a century from the common belief that women were incapable of being anything other than mothers. And how I look – blonde hair, blue eyes, small build – coincides with the traits most-commonly used to reinforce those particular personality characteristics in the current media." She paused next to a moss-covered stump. "Those cultural reinforcements are, or so I assume, even more strongly embedded in _your_ mind than they are in, say, Owen or Ianto, because you grew up in one of the more conservative periods of the twentieth century – an era wherein the outmoded ideals of the Victorian age made a resurgence."

"And that doesn't bother you? The general attitude, I mean, not me specifically."

Jenny shook her head. "Nope."

"Might I ask why not?"

"Three reasons," she said as they left the stump behind. "Firstly, those attitudes only really apply to _humans_. I'm _not_ human, despite the fact that I look like one. Secondly, everyone is entitled to their own opinions – and regardless of what they think of me, I actually know the truth of what I am and am not capable of… mostly. I'll admit that there are some things I've learned recently that I can do that I was previously unaware were possibilities, but I've yet to find something I am incapable of doing. And third and lastly, it's actually to my advantage for people to think me weaker or less intelligent than I really am. It gives me the upper hand." Her eyes drifted out of focus for a moment, and a bright grin crossed her face.

"I take it you've experience in that last," Liam said.

"Yeah," Jenny replied. "Before I got stranded on twenty-first century Earth, I was an andra kain-chu'tarn. Roughly translated, it means a 'freelance adventurer for hire', but more specifically, it meant that I followed the dictates of the Shadow Proclamation – I wouldn't accept jobs that were illegal – with the implication that dangerous missions were desirable. Most of what I did was retrieve stolen property, though there were a few jobs wherein I was the thief."

"And that was _legal_?"

Jenny wobbled a hand in a 'sorta' motion. "The laws on intellectual property were/will be somewhat… hazy, specifically as they pertain to corporations and businesses. There's a window of opportunity between when a business comes up with an idea and when it's certified as their own property where a skilled individual can abscond with it. It takes months for intellectual property to go through the certification process for a business, but an individual can complete the same process within a matter of days. This individual can then turn around and sell it, either back to the corporation from which it was taken or to a competing business. As long as there's no official paper-trail linking the buyer back to the person who stole the property, it's entirely legal." She chuckled. "On some planets, the entire process is something of a national sport."

Liam couldn't quite grasp the concept of thievery as sport. He set it aside to deal with later. "So, you were a… what did you call it? Andy can chew tern?"

"Andra kain-chu'tarn," Jenny corrected his pronunciation. "But yes. I was. All in all, it wasn't so different from Torchwood, but on a much larger – but simultaneously smaller – scale."

"How so?"

"Well, it was smaller in the sense that I usually worked alone. Most of the time, anyway. The few times I worked someone else, it was always just one other person. The way it was larger was that I had an entire universe in which to play… well, not quite. The thirty-eight galaxies served by the Shadow Proclamation. I tended to stick to the fifteen wherein Galactic Standard was the primary language because my Intergalactic Trade-speak isn't very good." She retrieved her computer and glanced at the screen before returning it to its pouch. "The general level of danger is about the same working for Torchwood, though. Less running, but about the same level of danger."

"I must admit it's difficult for me to imagine," Liam said.

Jenny smirked at him. "Oleander," she said.

"The garden flower?" Liam asked, somewhat puzzled. Jenny nodded. "What about it?"

"It's pretty, but can be deadly, and despite all the variations it possesses in bloom-color, it's still the only member of its genus," she replied. "I thought it might help to have a basis for comparison."

Liam was surprised to find that it did.

* * *

"Do they realize we can hear them?" T asked, gesturing to the slightly-uncomfortable communications link he wore hooked over his left ear.

Ianto shrugged, "You eventually get used to it. Besides, what we say is transmitted, too."

Teague grimaced. He hadn't thought of that. _So much for seeing if he'd be receptive to dinner and a movie, then. Such a waste of getting paired off by ourselves._ He was tempted to give in to a melodramatic sigh, but managed to restrain the urge. _Then again, T, you might have just been spared mortification on a near-fatal scale. Yes, Ianto _seems_ to be at least a _little_ curious, but it might just be Captain Flirt he's interested in. And face it, you simply can't compare to Himself. However…_ A tiny smirk flitted across his face, unseen by Ianto, and T licked his lips. _Definitely a pretty picture, the two of them would make._ He mentally filed the imaginary image in a permanent 'keep' folder in his brain.

Sitting behind the steering wheel of PC Huw's police vehicle, Ianto once again checked the positions of both Jenny's and Jack's mobile phones on his PDA. "Jack?"

"Yeah?" crackled back over the coms.

"You're getting close to the village. Should we head out?" Ianto asked.

"Not just yet," Jack replied. "Not in a good position. Village's ringed with hills and I've got minimal cover over here. There's a cluster of boulders I'm aiming for on the ridge. Should be there in about fifteen minutes. Liam? Jenny? How close are you two?"

"About ten minutes out," Jenny's voice said. "Satellite photos indicate the tree line stops before that ring of hills you mentioned. I'll let you know when we get that far."

"Copy," Jack said.

Ianto repeated the word, then stretched. He had never been particularly fond of sitting in a car for long periods, but this time didn't seem to be as fundamentally irritating as the car ride the day before had been. _I wonder if it's because I'm in the driver's seat?_ He idly wished for a cup of coffee, but the campfire had been doused shortly after they'd finished breakfast. _At least I now know that making coffee in the wilderness is only slightly more complicated than making it at home._ It had helped that he'd brought his French press and grind from home when Jack had sent him back after suitable clothes.

* * *

_If I find that they've buggered off and gotten drunk for the night, I'm gonna kill 'em both and leave their carcasses for the birds._ David stepped lightly across the scant layer of grass, barely disturbing it enough to leave a footprint. _Damn it, little brother – you did this _last _time! Just fucked off with a bottle of booze for three straight days, never mind all the work we still need to get done. How fair is it that he's the best we got with a knife other than Da? _

A strange noise echoed oddly against exposed sections of rock among the hills. _Was that a voice?_ David froze and waited to see if the noise would repeat. He cupped a hand against his ear to help collect the sound. _It is!_ Faintly, he could hear a man's voice saying, "…There's a cluster of boulders I'm aiming for on the ridge…"

David dropped his hand and went immediately into 'hunting' mode. He'd been prowling these hills all his life and knew all their quirks and idiosynchronicities with the same level of familiarity a ninety year old man had for the home in which he'd lived his entire life. _He's off this way. Maybe a hundred yards either side of Whisper Rock. Any farther and the sound wouldn't've bounced back to me._

He moved quickly, but silently – a trait he had developed during the years between Harvests, tracking rabbits and stalking pheasants. In less than five minutes, he could hear the scrape of boots on stone, the thud of their soles hitting grassy areas. He dropped to his stomach and double-checked that his shotgun was loaded.

David slithered to the crest of a low rise and peered around a boulder. A light breeze carried the scent of sickeningly spicy-sweet aftershave to his nose. Heartbeats later, the stranger himself appeared. David grinned and centered his sight on the man's chest.

_Breathe in, two, three, and out, two, three._ His grin broadened as he pulled the trigger.

The man in the WWII-surplus greatcoat dropped like a stone.

David hurried out from his hiding place and down the short slope to his prey. _Ten points, motherfucker._ The man's white button-down was a shredded mess of red. Working quickly, David soon had the man's mobile phone and Bluetooth earpiece tossed negligently over his shoulder. The revolver, David tucked in his belt. _Anything else interesting? Let's see… Keys, three pounds ten in change. Wallet with… fifty quid in cash. Leather cuff. _Shrugging, he pocketed the cash and tossed the rest.

_Da should get the coat. I think he'd like it._ He struggled a little, but managed to strip the coat off of his kill. David then retrieved his hunting knife from his boot and set about field-dressing the body. If it bled a little more than it should have, David didn't notice.

He whistled while he worked.

* * *

"Did you hear that?" T asked. "It sounded like a gunshot."

Ianto frowned and nodded. "Jack? Jenny? Liam?"

Jenny answered first, "I'm fine. So's Liam."

"Jack?" Ianto repeated.

"Captain Harkness?" Teague wanted to help, but he wasn't sure what to do. _It's not as though Jenny ever went over 'What to Do When Coms Drop While Hunting Cannibals'._

"Jack!" Ianto nearly shouted. "Come on, Jack. Say something."

_And yeah. Woe is me – the cute boy's enamored of the boss. Disappointing._ The thought flickered through T's brain before he could stop it. _Damn it, T – focus. Crisis developing here._

* * *

Jenny had stopped walking when the gunshot had echoed through their coms. Liam hadn't. "Jones!" he barked. "Obviously, if the captain _could_ answer, he _would have_ by now."

Jenny looked back the way they'd come, then at the tree line just ahead. "I hope it's just that his com failed."

"Me, too," T's voice sounded small and forlorn over the link. "What do we do now, though? We can't just call his mobile, can we?"

Jenny shook her head. "No. If he's staying quiet for a reason, the last thing we'd want to do is give away his position." She looked down at her MPEA. "But… I really don't want to think on what it could mean, but his phone hasn't moved since that coulda-been-a-gunshot." Right before her eyes, the dot indicating Jack's phone's GPS marker blinked out of existence. She let out a string of words in Galactic Standard.

"What is it, Jenny?" Ianto managed to wedge the question in when she paused for breath.

"You still got the tracker running on your PDA?"

"Yes, why – oh, for fuck's sake! His phone's gone. Off or broken. Either way, it's safe to assume he's met with some trouble," Ianto's temper was easy to hear.

"Somehow," Liam dryly stated, "that does not surprise me at all."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jenny glared at the doctor.

"Just that he seems the type to go looking for trouble," Liam replied.

Before Jenny could get into an argument with Liam over their captain, Ianto broke the tension by saying, "He is. However, in the current circumstances, I think I would have appreciated a little less trouble… What with the cannibals and what have you." He cleared his throat, then said, "Jenny, Liam – you two are about two hundred meters from the village itself. Can you see it yet?"

"No," Liam replied. "But if you give me a minute, I'll climb the rise. You two should start heading this way, but if I were you, I'd park out-of-sight and walk in."

"Okay. Let us know what you see. We'll be in the area in less than five minutes."

Jenny grabbed Liam's wrist as he turned to approach the hill hiding Brynblaidd from sight. "I'll circle around, see if I can't catch up with Jack," she said. "Be careful."

She could see him warring with himself for a long minute before he nodded. "You, too, Miss Thomas."

Jenny rolled her eyes at him. "Just call me Jenny. Please." He gave her a short nod, and she released his wrist. Turning her attention to her MPEA, she activated her perception filter at its maximum setting, then dialed the tread on her boots to their minimum sound level, and then sprinted along just inside the tree line after securing her computer in its holster.

* * *

David was glad he'd taken the time to field-dress his kill – it was heavy enough as it was, he didn't want to think about what another twenty-five pounds or so of viscera would do to his back. He kicked the back door instead of knocking. "Mum! Hey! Open the door, wouldja! This is gettin' heavier by the second!"

"Just a moment," his mother replied, sounding slightly exasperated. As promised, the door was flung open after only a short wait. "Did you find Martin and Huw?" she asked, stepping aside.

David shook his head as he carried his trophy across the threshold. "Not yet. Found this fucker," he dropped his burden on the butcher's block island, "and thought I should deal with him first. I guess James hasn't found either of them yet, either?"

"Rather lean, isn't he?" his mother said, prodding a bicep. "Still, better than nothing. And no, James hasn't. Now, you head back out and don't you dare come back without your brother and cousin!"

"What about –"

"Your father and I will tend to it," she said, frog-marching him back out the door. David could hear her holler for his Da as she slammed the door behind him. _So much for gratitude. I repeat, little brother – if you and Huw went off on a pub-crawl when there's still work to be done, I'm gonna kill you both myself._

Inside, Helen tied their latest body's wrists together. A moment later, Evan thudded into the kitchen. "What's this, then?" he asked.

"Oh, David brought him in just now," Helen replied. "Awfully lean, though. I think he'd do well mixed in the mince, yes?"

Evan hooked an empty hoist-hook through the ropes tying the body's wrists together, then pulled it up to dangle with the two others he'd not yet gotten to butchering. "Hmm… Likely the best use for him. See I'm gonna need to have words with David again on how we do things, though. Ain't a bloody mark on 'im." He grabbed a plastic sheet and set about wrapping their latest acquisition with it. "The boys find Martin yet? Or Huw?"

"If they had, don't you think I would have said as much?" Helen snapped at him, then took one side of the plastic and held it so Evan could get it secured properly.

Once they were done making sure no stray flies would spoil the meat before they could get it stored, Evan picked up the slightly-messy mound of wool that was left lying on the island. "What's this, then?" he shook it out, then sneered. "Definitely gonna need to have words with the boy. Told him once, I told him a thousand times – we don't keep trophies from our meat!" He tossed the coat into a pile of similarly-bloodstained clothes in the corner of the kitchen.

"If you do that backpacker first, I can get us a fresh roast together for tea," Helen said, moving to the sink to wash the breakfast dishes.

"Sounds like a fine idea," Evan replied, then swung the plastic-wrapped body of a boy over to the island; the kid had tried hiding out in one of the village houses the day before.

* * *

Cold metal pressed into the back of Liam's head just as he was about to relay that he'd reached the crest of the hill back to the others. He closed his eyes and raised his hands. He felt someone tug his earpiece off. "Weapons?" a harsh voice asked.

Liam retrieved the sleek little .45 from under his coat and held it by the barrel. It, too, was taken from him. "Any others?" Liam shook his head. "Good. Ever see what a twelve-gauge can do to a skull from this close?" The voice didn't wait for a reply, "That'll be you, mate, if you're lyin' to me. Hear?"

"Yes," Liam said.

"Good-good, now walk," the voice commanded, stressing his point by shoving the barrel of the shotgun a little more firmly against the back of Liam's head. "Big house on the edge of the village, there."

Liam mentally calculated his odds of a successful escape and came up with 'not good'. He walked.

* * *

Jenny skidded to a halt, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste to stop. "No, no, no, no, no," she said, dropping to her knees next to a small pile of discarded items, mostly made of bloodied cloth.

"Jenny?" Ianto said over the com. "We're just coming up to the village now. What'd you find?"

"Jack's stuff," she said, pawing through the pile. "Mobile's shattered. Com's still in one piece, though." She pocketed the com, his Vortex Manipulator, wallet, and the ring of keys. "I think they caught him – his clothes were cut off of him." Her eyes drifted to the side and she saw something that made her throat want to seize shut. "And that's not all they cut off him," she muttered.

"Jenny?" Ianto repeated her name, though his tone told her he was trying very hard not to think too hard on that last bit of information. "Jenny!" he said it like a verbal slap when she didn't reply.

Jenny closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Yeah. I'm still here. You two stay out of sight for now. I've got my perception filter running – I'm gonna see what I can see in the village itself. Liam?" There was no reply. "Dr. O'Kelly?" she said his name with more urgency. "Dr. O'Kelly!"

"I think he might've gotten caught," T's voice sounded very small and far away. "Should we call the Hub and have Tosh, Deedee, and Owen come out?"

"It'd take too long," Ianto replied. "Jenny – you said you've got your perception filter on?"

"Yeah," Jenny said. "Maximum setting."

"What's a –" Teague tried to ask.

"Kind of an invisibility cloak," Ianto impatiently answered.

"A _what_?"

"Note to self – don't try to use Harry Potter explanations with anyone from Belfast," Ianto mumbled to himself. "It makes it so you can't see her, T," he said. "Jenny – you go on and see what you can find. T and I will be about two minutes behind you."

"Be careful," Jenny said, standing.

"You, too," T replied.

She sprinted to the top of the hill blocking her view of Brynblaidd. Looking down, the town wasn't much to see. There was a single long building on one side of the road, with a pub at one end and what looked to be a general store of sorts at the other. The doors between the two businesses didn't sport signs over them, and Jenny thought they had the basic 'individuality' that tended to mark residences. On the other side of the circle where the road doubled-back on itself were a couple of small buildings – two houses, and one that could have been either a defunct petrol station or a garage of sorts. A few hundred meters away from the road proper stood a massive farm house.

Jenny was about to start down the hill when she caught movement on the far side of the valley. She let out a growling noise.

"Jenny?" Ianto's voice crackled over the com.

"Liam's definitely been taken," she said. "I can see him from here – one of those things has him at gunpoint and is taking him to the big farmhouse on the edge of town."

"At least he's alive," T said, sounding relieved.

"And he's gonna stay that way," Jenny said. "Where are you two?"

"We parked the cop car behind the last hill and are walking in. Do you see anyone we need to be worried about?" Ianto asked.

"Not from here. Hang back until I can get to that house." Jenny rushed down the hill and into town, trusting her perception filter to keep her hidden from view. She slowed as she reached the road, then stopped and looked around her. She couldn't hear anyone else in the immediate area. "Ianto?"

"Yeah?"

"What was the population of this town supposed to be?" she asked. The village itself had a faintly disused and abandoned feel to it.

"Only fifteen, why?"

"Because it feels abandoned, that's why," she was whispering, though she didn't realize it. "Even with today being a Monday and any kids off at school and the parents off at work, you'd think there'd be _someone_ home. Playing sick, retired, stay-at-home mum. But there's _nobody_ here."

"I don't much like the sound of that," T said. "What of the four we're looking for? I think we can assume one of them is the one who took Liam, but the other three…?"

"I don't see them either," Jenny replied. She tried to shake off the gloomy, suffocating atmosphere of the abandoned village, but didn't have much success. "Can you two check this while I go have a look at the house?"

"Sure," Ianto replied. "We'll be there in a minute or so."

Jenny nodded to herself, then jogged towards the large farmhouse. As she grew closer, she slowed her steps. Faint voices had her creeping around to the rear of the house. Grabbing an empty plastic bucket lying next to a rusting shovel, she carried it to a window that was about six feet from the house's back door. Using the bucket as a step-stool, she peered through grimy glass and saw a dimly-lit kitchen.

The woman she'd seen in both Huw's and Martin's minds – _Aunt Helen_ – was dicing peeled potatoes at a small table on the far side of the room, while the older man from those same memories – _Uncle Evan_ – was methodically chopping steaks. She couldn't tell the age or sex of the victim on the butcher-block island, but she knew it was too small to be Jack, and a small bit of tension released itself. _I know he says that he can't die and stay dead, but does that apply to being dismembered? And how, exactly, would that work? Would he just re-grow the bits that got hacked off? Or would he come back in pieces?_

She forcibly shoved the macabre thoughts aside. "I have two of them in the house that I can see," she whispered into the com. "Don't… Wait." Another man suddenly appeared – _James. Martin's eldest brother_ – and set a shotgun in a rack near the plastic-covered archway through which he'd arrived. "There's at least three of them in the house."

"I'll go back out in a bit," James said. "I've got the guy I found secured in the cellar. Thought you might want to be the one to find out if he's the last of the strangers in the area, Da, or if there's more out there we need to be looking for."

"Good lad," Evan said. "I'll go down once I'm done with this," he gestured to the carcass he was chopping up. "Your mother mentioned roast for tea."

"Quite," Helen agreed from her place at the kitchen table. "And I've found we've run out of carrots. If you see David, tell him to run to the store and pick some up."

While they carried on their surprisingly mundane conversation, Jenny jumped lightly off her perch and hustled to the corner of the house. "Okay," she said. "There are three in the house, specifically the kitchen, with one more out and about. The one you need to be looking out for is David – he's the third image Tosh should have sent to your phone, Ianto."

"How accurate is this?" Ianto asked.

"As close as I could come," Jenny replied. "Close enough, at any rate. They've got Liam in the cellar. I'm going to see if I can get to him. I'm gonna hafta be quiet, though – my perception filter doesn't work on sound."

"Copy," Ianto said. "We'll work our way to the house. Let us know if you need us."

"Don't worry. I won't hesitate to shout if I have to." With that, Jenny slunk around to the front door. Luck was with her – it was unlocked.

Silently, she twisted the knob and pulled the door open. The hinges let out a faint squeak and she froze, listening intently. "…ought to do it," she heard Evan say.

"Just like last time," Helen agreed to whatever it was they'd been talking about. Jenny's pulse slowed and she silently stepped into the entryway. She waited until one of them said something else before pulling the door most of the way closed in order to hide the squeak of its hinges, then gently latched it behind her.

Tiptoeing across the worn wooden floor, she ignored the staircase leading to the upper portion of the house. A room packed with books was through an archway on her left. A little further along the short hallway there was a door under the stairs on the right and another archway on the left. She could see a short segment of the same yellow wallpaper that had been revealed when Evan had entered the stone-lined kitchen. _That likely means the cellar is through the door under the stairs_.

Heavy footfalls heading her way halted her progress. She pressed herself against the wall and held her breath. Evan appeared in short order, carrying a battered baseball bat in one hand and a long, slim rod with a bright orange handle in the other. He stopped under the archway to the living room and said, "Shouldn't take long. Wouldn't mind a spot of tea when I'm done." One more step took him to the cellar door. He started to tuck the baseball bat under his other arm in order to open the door, but paused and breathed deeply through his nose.

"Someone's here," he muttered, bringing up the rod. It wound up barely resting against Jenny's stomach. Instinctively, she tightened the muscles, buying her about an inch of space.

"I can _smell_ you," Evan continued, not realizing how close he was. "Something flowery. Soap or perfume. Girly-smelling shit." He clicked something on the handle of the rod, and it let out a zot of electricity from the dual-pronged end nearest Jenny.

She edged backwards from it, gaining a solid six inches. Evan zotted the prod again. "Where are you…?"

Jenny glanced over her shoulder at the door, then back at Evan. He obviously couldn't see her – his eyes were darting all around the hallway, looking for any sign of an intruder. _I wonder if I can just yank the cattle prod out of his hand?_ With him standing in the way, she couldn't get past him and into the cellar. _But I don't know how an electric cattle prod actually works. If it's conductive down its entire length…_ She suppressed a shiver.

Evan zotted the prod twice more in quick succession, before shaking his head. He started to lower the prod and turn back to the cellar. Jenny relaxed.

The floor under her boots creaked noisily.

Evan brought the prod up once again – at the full length of his arm – and hitting the trigger for it as he did so.

The raw electricity burned through Jenny's t-shirt and crackled along her Second Skin, canceling the perception filter.

Evan blinked at her sudden appearance, then grinned at her. He quickly adjusted the rod's position, and zotted her again – this time, its prongs and the lightning they contained hit her just above where her t-shirt and Second Skin fit, in the hollow below her throat, cutting off her words, "No, wait –"

While she was trying to recover, Evan brought up the baseball bat and hit her squarely in the side of her head.

* * *

"Jenny?" Ianto said her name with thinly-veiled concern.

Teague couldn't blame him one bit – the last transmission had been cut off, drowned by a squeal of feedback. "Jen?" he added his own query to the broadcast. When they didn't get a reply after several repetitions, T asked, "She was caught, wasn't she?"

"Seems that way," Ianto agreed, retrieving his gun and checking it. He thumbed the safety off.

Teague followed his example. "So," he said. "Dramatic rescue, then?"

Ianto nodded. "Good plan."

They took a chance and ran straight for the farmhouse; it wasn't as daft an idea as it could have been, their position when they'd gotten Jenny's last transmission had them at an angle to the front of the house, and Ianto knew that usually, the kitchen was at the rear. Arriving at their destination, they worked silently around to the rear of the building, then to the only door. They paused and listened.

"…no idea _how_, only that she just fuckin' appeared, Helen," a gravelly man's voice was saying.

"Funny sort of gun, too," came from another man, though he sounded slightly younger.

"Could she be some sort of MI5, do you think?" a woman's voice asked. "Could they know?"

"Oh, come off it, Helen," the first man said. "They're thick. Never gonna have a clue about our Harvest…"

Ianto ignored the rest of what they were saying. "Gonna kick open the door on a count of three. You take anyone on the left, I'll take the right," he whispered in T's ear.

Teague nodded and brought his gun up.

Ianto took a step back from the door, held up a hand with his index finger extended. The middle finger joined it. Then he dropped his hand and kicked the door.

It broke off its hinges and slammed inwards. T found it suitably impressive, but thought Ianto might have been 'helped' by shoddy construction. He didn't let the thoughts distract him, however.

Ianto crashed into the kitchen and Teague followed on his heels. Five gunshots later, and three of the four cannibals they were looking for were bleeding on the floor. The woman had a single hole in her shoulder – courtesy of Ianto's pistol. The older man had one through his knee from T's gun. And the younger man had one in his gut. The other two shots – both from T's gun – had missed, one slamming harmlessly into the butcher's block, and the other shattering an ancient rotary phone hanging on the wall above the kitchen table.

Calmly, Ianto strode over to the older man and shot him one more time, between the eyes. Next, he moved on to the younger man and gave him the same treatment. Teague leveled his gun at the woman. "We're looking for our friends," he said. "An older man, absurdly tall. Another man, absurdly handsome. And a little blonde girl. Don't try to deny they're here – that's her gun you've got on your table there."

The woman tried to say something, but all that came out was a series of s-sounds. Teague thumbed back the hammer on his gun. "I have no trouble shooting your other shoulder."

"C-c-cellar!" she shouted. "The girl's in the cellar!"

"And the other two?" Ianto asked, coming to stand next to Teague.

"Don't know – James brought a man in. Don't know if he's one you're looking for."

A sudden loudly-indrawn gasp of breath, followed by a string of syllables Ianto recognized as something Jack tended to babble when frustrated beyond all reason came from the corner where a cluster of plastic-wrapped bodies hung from the ceiling. "Get me down from here!"

Teague startled, but tried not to show it. "Jack?" he called out, looking over his shoulder.

He could see one of the bodies was wriggling within its plastic. "Who do you think? Get me outta this crap. My shoulders feel like they're gonna fall off."

Ianto smiled politely at the woman. "Thank you," he said, then put her out of her misery. He thumbed the safety on and returned his gun to his waistband. "Jack, are you alright?" he asked, hurrying to his boss. Teague likewise put his gun away and rushed over to lend a hand.

"No!" Jack shouted, then repeated his demand to be let out of his predicament.

Working together, Ianto and Teague soon had Jack released from the plastic and lowered from the hook. _Definitely can't compare to Himself,_ Teague thought, watching a naked Jack out of the corner of his eye while searching for something he could wear. Ianto beat him to it, however, and came up with Jack's greatcoat – bloodstained and a little worse for wear, but still recognizably the same coat. While Jack shrugged into it, Teague suddenly realized that he'd been hung up with _bodies_ and had to suppress a shiver. _I hope they were dead already. Though, from what little Jenny's explained, I suppose suffocation would be a relatively peaceful way to go in this house._

"Where's Liam and Jenny?" Jack asked.

"Cellar, we think," Ianto replied. "Were just about to check when you came-to."

Jack stretched his shoulders, then winced. "Yeah. Never really experienced it before, but it's definitely not high up on my list. All things being equal, I think I'd rather be shot." He ran a hand down the line of his abdomen.

"Huh?" Teague was slightly confused, though he could tell Ianto didn't share in that confusion.

Jack grimaced a little, "Though, I suppose to be technically accurate, I _was_ shot first. The evisceration was before I revived from that."

"You gonna be alright?" Ianto asked, either not noticing or ignoring Teague's confusion.

"Always am," Jack replied. "I take it from your lack of reaction that Owen talked to you?" he said, picking his way across the kitchen.

"And to Tosh," Ianto confirmed, following Jack. They reached the plastic-covered arch and Ianto laid a hand on Jack's shoulder. "T and I will find Jenny and Liam," he said. "How about you find something more than your coat to wear?"

"What happened to my stuff?"

Ianto shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know. Think Jenny might've found it, but we need to find _her_ in order to ask her." He pointed to the kitchen table. "Sit."

"Fine," Jack huffed, sounding a bit like an exasperated teen. "Leave me a gun, though."

Ianto leveled a pointed look at T. Teague sighed and handed over his .45. "If what Jenny told us was accurate, there's still one more out there," he said.

* * *

Three hours later, the Torchwood team stood on the rise that circled the village and watched as the entire town burned merrily into ash. Jenny and Liam had been released from the cellar without incident, and everyone's possessions had been returned. Liam and Ianto had torn down their campsite and returned in one piece. Jack had changed into his spare clothes. And then they had taken a detailed survey of the village and the contents of the house's freezer and kitchen – in addition to the seventeen people Jack had counted among the missing persons reports, there were at least eleven more recent victims.

Halfway through the survey, the final member of the family that had been preying on people for generations had arrived. Wasting no effort, Jenny had unceremoniously shot him in the back with her neutron pistol – it made no noise whatsoever, and the only indication that it hit what it'd been aimed at was when the target froze in his steps. A second shot was a touch more obvious in that the organic makeup of the target shattered into a cloud of dust, leaving behind a pair of synthetic-leather boots, a belt-buckle, some buttons and a zipper, and Jack's Webley. Jenny's punishment for this act was to clean Jack's gun – organic dust was _hell_ on a revolver.

And now, with flames erasing Brynblaidd, Jenny pulled her canvas coat tighter around herself. "I don't think I like camping," she said.

Teague wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry, deirfiúr bheag. Normally, camping's more to do with pretty scenery and less to do with cannibals."*

Ianto gestured to the burning town. "Isn't this, well… _overkill_, sir?" Ianto asked of Jack.

Jack shook his head. "Nope," he said, popping the P. "Not at all. I'm tempted to come back after it cools off and sow the ground with salt."

"Don't forget," Liam added, his face still unreadable to Jack, "you'll need to post warning signs, too. 'Here there be monsters'."

* * *

**A/N2:** As far as Jack's immortality is concerned, I've always figured that the more damage he suffered, the longer it took for him to return from the dead (the exception being the thing with Abaddon, which wasn't _physical_ damage and so followed other rules). Likewise, it'd take longer to come back from successive deaths within a short period of time (like with the Cyberwoman) than if it had only been just one death. Just so y'all know where I'm coming from, of course.

*And, according to the interwebz, 'deirfiúr bheag' is Irish for 'little sister'. Let me know if there's a better term out there. Thanks in advance.


	14. Setting Up

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'Torchwood'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

**A/N:** I've met a few politicians in my time, and spoken with some of them when they weren't being all politiciany and have found them to be, on the whole, just people. I would assume this observation would likewise apply to royalty. Yes, you might infer that I have fictionalized a living person within this chapter – I hope no one takes offense, because offense was not intended. It should also be stated that no, I have never met them in person – in fact, I have only seen short snippits of them on television – and have no relationship with them in any way. In fact, I only use the name and image within this chapter – all else should be considered simply the invention of my imagination. Thanks in advance for not suing me. Happy reading!

* * *

**Synchronicity**

_Chapter Fourteen: Setting Up_

_22 November, 2006  
05:45_

Kieran's wind-up alarm clock blared to life, pulling him from a restless sleep. Numbers and equations had chased themselves through his mind all night, precluding most dreams. The few dreams that fought their way through the ceaseless variables and exponents were riddled with a common theme: Going home.

Thus his nights had been for a full ten nights now. The first two nights after arriving in Cardiff had been blissfully dream-free; but then he dreamt of walking home after primary school one sunny spring day, to find his mum in the kitchen crafting sweets. And then he dreamt of stepping off the plane after a holiday abroad in uni. And then…

They had all been the same. It was enough to drive a man mad, had it not been for one small fact: Seven days earlier, UNIT had delivered the tech contents of Torchwood Four: Belfast. And a small idea had taken root.

Kieran turned off his alarm before it could wake Liam and Teague, then stumbled to the bathroom. He could hear Brigit stirring in the room she shared with Deirdre and Eva, though none of them would be around much longer. Eva had been accepted to an art school in New York and would be leaving at the end of the month to get herself situated before the new semester began in January. Brigit and Deirdre were already looking at flats to let in the area.

_It could work. Jenny said that you _can_ rewrite time, as long as it isn't a 'fixed point' – whatever those are. _He turned on the shower and removed his pajamas. As he let the scalding water help to wake him up, he mulled it over again. _I cannot imagine that such a small thing – fifteen people, total – could be one of her 'fixed points'. Fifteen souls out of the billions that came before and the billions upon billions yet to come? No way are we _that_ important._

_So, postulating that Torchwood's Belfast branch is unimportant on a cosmic scale, and assuming that Jenny is right and time itself can be rewritten, then it follows that it _is_ possible to reverse what was done to us. And since the base-code of the universe can be rendered in mathematics, therein lies my answer._ Ever mindful he shared the house with five other people who would all like showers, he switched the water off before he really wanted to.

He dried himself off with his towel – his actual towel, dug out of a box in a storage locker where his personal effects had been transferred. _Now, if I further presume that what caused this unfortunate displacement was the testing on Object-B297, then perhaps the clue to the type of mathematics I need to solve lies in understanding three things. Firstly, what exactly was Object-B297? Secondly, was what happened a result of our tests on said object? Thirdly, can the object and/or the conditions of the test be recreated? Only in answering those three questions can I then answer the biggest question of them all: Can I reverse engineer it to send me home?_

Kieran pulled on his dressing gown, then padded back to his shared bedroom. T was just starting to wake up. They traded 'good morning' nods as Teague climbed off the upper bunk and headed for the bath. Kieran selected his clothes and quickly and quietly dressed. He picked up the small pocket-telephone that he'd been issued the day before and stared at it.

_It's like something out of a child's storybook. A telephone, calculator, telegram, camera, among other things, all shrunk down to fit in the palm of my hand. Something small enough to lose in the couch cushions – as if my wallet hadn't been bad enough on that score._ Sighing a little, he slid it into his pocket.

He pushed aside the homesickness and headed to the kitchen. In short order he got a pot of coffee brewing and some toast made. Kieran was just finishing his breakfast when Teague showed up. "Mornin'," he said, reaching for the coffee pot. "Any big plans for today?"

Kieran shook his head. "Not particularly," he replied, rinsing his mug in the sink. "Thought I might take a look at some of the fragments of Object-B297 that UNIT recovered from the lab. I'm hoping there'll be some sort of clue as to what happened."

"Would be nice to know," T replied, sipping his coffee. "But that wasn't what I meant. Today's supposed to be payday."

"Ah, payday. Do I hear the distinctive noise of a pub in your near future, T?" Kieran grinned at him; it was a little nostalgic for his own misspent youth.

T shrugged. "Maybe," he allowed. "Tosh mentioned knowing this really great place – something about olives – but I'd really rather see about maybe getting my own computer. There's just something about the idea of actually owning my own that really really appeals to me."

"Best of luck to you, then, lad," Kieran said. _My first job after I got my doctorate involved punch-cards. I actually rather miss them. You actually had to understand what you were doing with punch-cards, and you had to do it right the first time around. The computers of this age… Yes, they are more powerful, certainly, but…_ He swallowed another sigh. "I think I'll walk today," he said, putting his mug back in the cupboard.

"You sure?" T asked. "It's almost five miles."

"Quite sure," Kieran said. "It's supposed to be a lovely day, and I've some things to think on."

"Okay," T toasted him with his half-empty mug. "If you insist. Though, if you're not at the Hub by nine, I'm gonna send someone to fetch you." He tried to take some of the sting out of his words by adopting a teasing tone and flavoring it with a lighthearted smile.

Kieran returned the smile with one of his own. "Don't fret – I have that phone they gave me. If I come to trouble, I'll call for a taxi." He grabbed his coat off the hooks by the back door and put it on, then grabbed his hat. "See you at work, Teague."

* * *

_23 November, 2006  
03:40_

Jack's mobile phone rang, pulling him from his latest reread of _The Iliad_. He absently groped for it and answered without checking the caller-ID. "Harkness," he said.

"Dad?"

Jack dropped his book and sat up, hitting his head on the adjustable lamp he had bolted to the wall above his bed. "Alice? What's wrong? Is it Steven?"

"No, Dad," she said. He could hear tears in her voice. "Mum died about half an hour ago."

Some of the tension that had drenched him on hearing the distress in his daughter's voice managed to evaporate. "Oh, honey – I'm sorry. Are you at the hospital?"

"No," she sniffed. "They called me. I'm at home."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," Jack said, already pulling his trousers on.

"No, you don't have to," Alice argued. "I just – I thought you should know."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," Jack repeated, infusing his voice with a hefty dose of 'there's no use arguing, so don't even try'. "Steven asleep?"

"Yeah," Alice said. Jack could hear her wiping her face in the background. "God – how am I supposed to tell him?"

"Well," Jack said, pulling on a pale blue shirt, "firstly, you wait until he wakes up. No one under the age of eighteen should ever need to be woke up for bad news."

"That another Harkness rule, Dad?" a faint hint of humor managed to shove its way into Alice's voice.

"You bet it is," Jack replied. He'd managed to do up the buttons on his shirt and was pulling on his boots. "It's right up there with 'never tip a cranky waitress' and 'never push a button if you don't know what it does'."

"That second one's new." Jack could tell Alice was grateful to have some sort of distraction.

He finished tying his laces, then switched the call over to his headset. "Nah, it's not particularly new. Had it longer than the one about waitresses."

"Story?"

"Not really interesting," Jack said, grabbing his wallet and the keys to the SUV. "It was before I joined the Time Agency. I was back home, helping a friend rebuild the engine for his Boe-1404 – that's a bit like the spaceship equivalent of a Brazilian-made motorcycle, cheap and finicky and generally not worth much." He headed to the garage while he spoke. "Anyway, Imrhys hadn't told me he'd made a bunch of modifications on the controls, so when he told me to start it up, I hit the button that _should_ have been the starter. It wasn't."

"What was it?"

"A phase-burst – kinda like a nitrous tank on a racecar," Jack said. "Only, since the engine wasn't completely rebuilt, all it did was let a giant fireball outta the exhaust. Lucky the ship was pointed at Imrhys' house, otherwise I'm sure they woulda spent _years_ picking pieces of our corpses outta the sand – Imrhys' girl had a temper that I've never seen equaled in all the years since! As it was, me and Imrhys both got fined for the destruction of a line of decorative vegetation that marked the boundary of the colony."

"This was before…?"

Jack knew exactly what she was asking. "Yeah," he said, climbing into the SUV and starting it up. It still had a growly undertone to the engine that the mechanic hadn't been able to identify, but all the actual damage done on their recent trip to Brynblaidd had been repaired. "It happened when I still thought I was normal. I was twenty-four at the time."

"It's hard to imagine you that young, Dad," Alice said, her voice threatening more tears. "Tell me another story."

"Any requests?" he asked, pulling onto the freeway that would take him almost directly past his daughter's home.

"Something silly," she demanded, making an attempt to keep the tears away.

"Silly… Hmm… Okay," Jack had to shovel aside veritable drifts of sexual escapades to find one that he felt fit the criteria of distracting Alice without pushing her over the line. "I was about sixteen at the time, if you can actually imagine that. About a foot shorter, nearly no muscle at _all_, and constantly tripping over my own feet."

The admission managed to yank a startled laugh out of her. "Really?"

"Yep," Jack said, popping the P. "A right klutz. However, that isn't the story. I'd been invited to a party on Ceres II – the planet right next door. The person who'd invited me was a cousin of mine, and I wasn't allowed to turn down the invitation. Anyway, where I lived was like I told you before, a tropical climate, pretty similar in most respects to southern Florida. What nobody told me was that Brael's place was in a temperate region – and that they were in the middle of _winter_."

"I can see where this is going," Alice said. Her voice told Jack he was being somewhat successful in distracting her. "Let me guess – you showed up in sandals and a bathing suit to find snow knee-deep."

"No," Jack replied. "Not exactly. I was wearing my normal clothes – long pants, boots, and a short-sleeved shirt under a light jacket. Mosquitoes were a bit of a problem on Ceres III, especially on the Boeshane Peninsula. Not exactly suited to a midwinter climate, but not too outrageous. Besides, I went from the station in Boeshane to the interplanetary hopper, and from there directly into Brael's parents' shuttle – they parked in their garage. I didn't get a chance to even see the outdoors until nearly an hour after I'd arrived."

"Okay, so what did you do that was so silly?"

"It was during the party itself. Brael's dad had been called in to work and his mom had run to the store to pick up more food, leaving thirty or so teenagers alone in the house. Brael broke into the liquor cabinet immediately, tossing a bottle of Ashvin in the punch bowl – it's a lot like a stronger version of vodka, without much flavor to it. He refilled the empty bottle with water and put it back just as his mom returned with the food."

"And you all got horribly, horribly drunk."

"No," Jack disagreed, taking the exit that would lead to Alice's house. "_Aunt Vika _did. She'd never even had a glass of champagne before, and she alone drank the majority of the punch in the bowl – Brael and I had gone around letting the other kids know our cunning plan ahead of time, so they all stuck to the packaged drinks from the cooler."

Alice chuckled. "You got your aunt drunk?"

"Absolutely. It was the funniest thing I'd ever seen in my life up to that point," Jack said. "Come to think of it – it might just be in the top five of my _entire_ life, even since. Especially the part where she started singing along to the stereo. No, no, no, wait a moment. My favorite part was when she complained that she felt too hot, so Brael suggested she take a dip in their swimming pool. It must have seemed like a good idea, because she all but ran right outside and jumped _through_ the skin of ice on it, clothes and all."

"It wasn't covered?"

Jack made a left-hand turn onto Alice's street. "No. Usually, it was heated, so they could use it year-round, but the heater had died the week before and the repairman hadn't come around to fix it yet." He parked the SUV in front of Alice's house and turned off the ignition. "Now, come unlock the door for me."

"Is it too late to tell you to go back to work?"

"Absolutely," Jack said, walking up to the door. He waited until he could see Alice through the colored window glass set in the door before he ended the call. "Open up, sweetheart – please."

Alice actually opened the door, which was rather more than Jack had expected. What was also more than he had expected was how she took but a single beat to stare at him before launching herself at him. The collar of his coat was soaked through before he could get her to move enough that any insomniac neighbors weren't treated to a show.

* * *

_25 November, 2006  
17:24_

"So, even though all the rift stuff is our priority, you've decided to go through the things from Belfast first?" Tosh asked, looking at the pile of twisted metal shards that Kieran was working on. It wasn't difficult to hear the disapproval in her voice.

Kieran twirled his chair around to look at his immediate superior. "Aye, lass," he said. "I know it's not particularly high on the priority list, but I'm rather interested in knowing how it is, exactly, that I and the others managed to skip almost precisely thirty years' worth of elapsed time. Aren't you curious at all about how it happened?"

Tosh had to nod. "I am, but we're so backlogged – and only part of it is stuff the rift's sent through. We also have to categorize and sort all of the items salvaged from the fall of the London office."

"From my understanding of events, Torchwood London wasn't destroyed so much as depopulated, is that correct?" Kieran asked. He already knew this to be the case – he'd read the reports.

Again, Tosh had to nod. "Yes. The building itself suffered minor damage, all of which has been repaired. But they had their own stockpile of technology and data that they did not see fit to share with the rest of us. When the Cybermen and Daleks showed up and fought, not only were Torchwood people caught in the crossfire between the two, but the Cybermen had taken to converting as many people as they could to bolster their numbers. Resultantly, London's office wound up with only forty-six survivors out of nearly eight hundred, counting the people who had been out of the office for whatever reasons that day."

Something that had been bugging Kieran about the events since the fall of T1 sprang to the forefront of his mind. _Now's as good a time as any to ask._ "If that is correct, then might I ask why the captain hasn't hired on additional help from those who survived London's fall? Particularly if the backlog is as bad as you say it is?"

"I would imagine it has something to do with the fact that Jack severed all contact with the London branch shortly after he took command here," Tosh replied. "From what he's said about how Yvonne Hartman ran London, I don't blame him any. They operated under her with standing orders of 'if it's alien, it's ours'."

"And you agree with the captain?" Kieran asked. "In disagreeing with that stance, I mean."

Tosh pulled her own chair over to Kieran's workstation. Both Deirdre and Jenny were also obviously listening in, but trying not to appear like they were, while T was unashamedly watching their conversation – his workstation was just on the other side of Kieran's, so he had a great view. "Without having first-hand knowledge of the actual situation and working conditions at T1, I have to agree with Jack," she said. "When we got there, shortly after the last of the Daleks and Cybermen had been dealt with, we found nearly four hundred individuals locked in London's equivalent of our cells – where we keep the weevils we capture. In London's vault, these people encompassed nearly a hundred and fifty different spacefaring species. Some of them had gotten stuck on Earth because their ships had crashed, but most of them had been _captured_ by T1 while simply passing by; they had no interest in Earth at all, to say nothing of wanting to claim it as their own."

"I can infer that T1 confiscated their technology, but why did they keep the aliens themselves?" Kieran asked.

"To study. Fully half of all the individuals we located didn't survive more than a week, thanks to the damage T1's xenobiologists did in their 'studies' – compounded by the fact that the building had to be powered down since there weren't enough Torchwood members left to run the systems. Of the survivors, Jack returned what he could to them, along with valuable – but essentially harmless – bits of tech scavenged by Torchwood as an apology on behalf of their treatment while on Earth." Tosh let out a small sigh. "And I agree with Jack's explanation on why he let them go home – 'protecting Earth should never mean mugging passersby or lost travelers, regardless of their origin'.

"Of course, UNIT disagreed with Jack, but since they were only there as backup, they had to follow Jack's orders – under threat of Her Majesty withdrawing British support from them. But even with all the tech Jack gave back to its rightful owners and the tech he gifted them, there are still literally _thousands_ of individual pieces that we need to log, research, and archive." Tosh gestured to the shrapnel from Object-B297 that Kieran had on his desk. "And that's in addition to the _hundreds_ of pieces of whatnot that the rift's thrown at us, as well as the stuff you had up in Belfast."

Kieran gave a half-shrug. "Still doesn't explain why the captain doesn't hire on additional support."

"Because there were only two researchers who survived London," Jack said, coming down the stairs with his coat on and his battered valise in hand. "Of the two who survived, one committed suicide three days after the London office fell. The second is Ianto. Most of the rest of the survivors from London were either part of Hartman's militia – and I absolutely do _not_ want someone who will, without fail, shoot first and never mind the questions – or general support staff, of which we have no use." Jack paused next to the gate to the cogwheel door. "As to hiring some more people in general – just where do you think I should put them?" he asked, gesturing to the Hub. With the additions of Kieran, Deedee, T, and Liam, the main floor of their building was beginning to feel crowded.

Kieran looked around the space and let out a humming noise. "All right, I suppose you have a point on the lack of space, Captain. However, if I come up with a workable solution to the problem, would you then consider hiring more help?"

Jack let a small grin flash onto his face, though it had the same distracted air that most of his expressions had sported for the past few days. "Sure, McEvoy. If you can come up with a way to eke out more workspace from what we've got – _without_ hijacking more tunnel space from the sewers and _without_ building additional space up top – I'll consider adding more personnel. For now, though, we need to work with what we've got. And Tosh – if Kieran wants to work on the items from Belfast in his own time, that's fine. You've got your own projects, so let him have his. In fact, it might be a good idea to have him focus on the Belfast items – he is more familiar with them than we are and there were only a few dozen objects in their inventory. Once he's caught up on them, then have him move on to the backlog."

"Actually, Captain, I was trying to figure out how we got flashed to the current time period," Kieran said just as the man was about to leave for his delayed interview in London.

"Though I'm just as curious as you are," Jack said, speaking over his shoulder, "leave it for your own time for now. Tosh is right – we're practically buried under a mound of possibly dangerous, possibly useful, probably junk. Let's get that mound whittled down a bit before trying to use any of it, yeah?"

Disappointment bubbled within Kieran, but he didn't let it show. "As you say, Captain."

Jack exited without another look back – he had to hurry if he was going to make his train.

* * *

_26 November, 2006  
11:30_

"What, no minutes this time?" Jack asked, removing his greatcoat and slinging it haphazardly over the back of an armchair.

"Reliable voice transcription, Captain," their host said, gesturing to a seemingly out-of-place laptop resting on a side table; in a room last decorated at least a hundred years earlier, its newness was doubly jarring. "I do believe it to be the best development to have come from your researchers." She took a seat in one of the armchairs facing a small sofa. The entire cluster of furniture angled so it had a commanding view of both an ornate fireplace and the lavish grounds outside.

"Hardly _my_ researchers, Lizzie," Jack countered as he flopped onto the sofa, leaving the second chair – with his coat on its back – for Ianto. "That particular piece of software came out of One, not Three."

Ianto visibly winced at how Jack was acting, though he claimed a small measure of comfort that their host hardly seemed to expect anything other than Jack being, well, _Jack._ Ianto gingerly took his own seat and retrieved a notebook and pen from his satchel. He hurriedly noted what had already been said, thankful for what had to be the billionth time that he'd learnt shorthand.

"As One no longer exists, Jack," their host said with a smile, "I do believe you can safely claim it as your own. And speaking of One, have you been monitoring the survivors as I had asked?"

Jack nodded – Ianto had to shelve his surprise to be expressed at a more appropriate time. "I have," Jack said. "Since Goodhart committed suicide, two others have made an attempt, despite the counseling that was made available; all three were actually present the day One fell. Of the rest, most seem to be doing well."

She nodded and then said, "That is to be expected, I believe. And have you received the projections from the Torchwood properties?"

Jack fiddled with his wrist-strap for a moment, then grinned. "Yep," he said. "Told ya that he'd do better than I would with the financials. I'd probably have wound up running most of them out of business by now."

Their host laughed and Ianto had to push aside the surreal nature of the conversation in which he found himself something of a participant. _When Jack told me he wanted me along at the annual performance review for Torchwood, I hadn't quite envisioned… this._ The one thing that hadn't yet surprised him was how Jack – despite _where_ they were and _who_ they were with – was still irreverently, irrepressibly _Jack_.

"Come now," their host retorted. "I am sure that, had you accepted the responsibilities along with taking the lead of Torchwood's more field-centric duties, you would have performed admirably."

Jack shrugged. "Coulda been," he allowed. "But I repeat – I'd rather walk away permanently than take over the financial side of things, too. It's all I can do to pay attention to my own money."

"Moving on," she said, "our original meeting was delayed by the reappearance of Torchwood Belfast."

"Right," Jack agreed. "Just called me up right outta the blue."

"Any information on where it has been since disappearing?"

Jack shook his head. "Nope. I suspect the facility – and its people – were either time-jumped from 1976 to now or that they were temporarily placed within some sort of pocket dimension where time ran at a different rate. When we get caught up with the other things we need to look into, I plan to research what happened."

"And the people who arrived with the Belfast building, Jack?"

"Are, for the most part, fitting in rather nicely," Jack replied. "Of Belfast's original fifteen employees, one – Noreen Moore – was who reported the disappearance of the facility back in '76. When Four reappeared, they had suffered five casualties: Declan McGrath, the T4 Second-in-Command; Teresa Maguire, the lead research scientist; both members of Maguire's team, Michael O'Brien and John McMillan; and one of the physicists, Aiden McGuinness. Two were injured at the time: Sean Joyce, the lead physicist, and Conner O'Sullivan, the third of their team of physicists. Sean Joyce has since died of his injuries."

"My sympathies," she said.

"Thank you, I'll inform the team," Jack said, sounding sincere and not just charming for a change. "Of the rest, Mary Brannigan seems incapable of coping with her sudden relocation to a point thirty years into her future. She's currently in a care facility I trust. Eva Flynn had been Four's resident nurse, but has decided to pursue other opportunities and will be attending an art school in New York after the start of the new year. The remainder of Four's employees have all agreed to stay on with me at Cardiff."

"What of the second injured man you mentioned? O'Sullivan, I believe you called him."

"He's currently recovering from multiple broken bones at a rehab facility in Cardiff," Jack said. "I've been by twice to speak with him in person and the staff at the facility keep me apprised of his progress – they expect him to be released just before Christmas. As to Conner's plans, he hasn't yet decided whether or not he wants to remain with Torchwood. I've asked that he let me know one way or the other by the time he's released."

The conversation paused as a servant wheeled in a cart loaded down with tea, biscuits, and sandwiches. Jack had to lean across the low coffee table and pluck Ianto's notebook out of his hands, leaving a long trail of blue ink across the page. "Nothing business-related while we eat, Ianto," Jack explained, setting the notebook on the table.

Ianto would have objected had they been anywhere else – _Or _with_ anyone else, for that matter._ Instead, he kept his opinions on the matter to himself and focused on the tea – unexpectedly mediocre – and his sandwich – exemplary, while Jack and their host discussed other matters. He quickly learned to time his swallows with pauses in their conversation – _I do _not_ wish to choke to death _here_, of all places!_ – after the rather early revelation that Jack had known their host since she had been a baby. Their conversation eventually turned from their host's family to Jack, and Ianto's fingers _itched_ to be taking notes again.

"And how is Alice, Jack?"

Jack swallowed the last bite of his sandwich and toyed with a chocolate biscuit. "Well as can be expected, I suppose. I dropped by back on October fourth, but she all but chased me out of the house with the garden hose," he covered his obvious unease with an insincere grin. "At least I got to leave Steven's gift for him."

Something of Ianto's confusion must have shown on his face because their host explained, "Alice is Jack's daughter, Mr. Jones, and Steven is his grandson." Returning her attention to Jack, she said, "If that girl can't realize you only want what's best for her, then she doesn't deserve you, Jack."

Jack shrugged. "Deserving or not never entered into it, Liz. Because Lucia took off like she did, I wasn't able to be there for her growing up. Now that I've found her again, I'm not gonna just disappear on her." He took a slow breath. "Besides, Lucia died just a couple of days ago; her funeral's tomorrow. I honestly don't care if Alice _wants_ my help or not – she's gonna _have_ it, at least for now."

"I take it back," she exclaimed, laying a comforting hand on Jack's watch-clad wrist, "never mind how _Alice_ is doing, Jackie – how are _you_ doing?"

Jack shook his head. "I honestly don't know, Liz," he said.

Ianto, for one, knew _precisely_ how he felt – surprised. And it wasn't going away. The more Jack spoke, the more surprise kept piling up on top of him until he felt he was about to drown in it.

Jack sighed. "I can't get used to it. No matter how many times it happens, losing someone I care about never seems to get any easier. And as to Lucia specifically, I have no idea _what_ I'm feeling. I used to love her, then I hated her, then she just wasn't a factor any longer, and now? I just don't know at all. I'm just trying to keep in mind that she was Alice's mom… It helps, some, to think on it like that. Just not enough as it should."

The conversation wound back to their host's family, and then slowly drew to a close as they finished lunch. Another pause was taken as the servants carried away the dirty dishes, leaving a fresh pot of tea behind. Jack handed Ianto back his notebook, and Ianto took that as a sign that their official business was about to be reinstated. He wasn't wrong. Most of the rest of the next two hours was spent going over, in detail, the many field reports Jack and his team submitted after every mission.

Once they finished, Ianto returned his nearly-full notebook to his satchel, and the three occupants of the opulent room stood. "Until next time, Captain Jack," their host said. "And I quite like your Mr. Jones – though he could do to be less in awe of me. Perhaps next time, he will find his voice."

"I'm sure he will," Jack replied. "Thanks for lunch, Liz. Take care."

"You, too," she said.

All Ianto could do was wait until he was safely back in his room at the hotel before quietly indulging the panic-attack that had been threatening since the moment he had realized just what 'annual review' and 'answers to the Crown' actually entailed.

* * *

**A/N2:** In looking over my notes, I've come to the conclusion that I need to start pacing the episodes a little more, so you're going to be treated to original content in this storyline until it reaches Christmas. In getting the timelines of both _Torchwood _and _Doctor Who_ to synch up, I needed to move the Sycorax invasion to 2005 (even though it was supposed to have taken place in 2006 – if that were so, how did Jack have the Doctor's severed hand from that episode in _October_ of 2006?). Yes, this means that the next Whoverse episode I'm going to deal with in this 'verse is going to be 'The Runaway Bride' – specifically, the aftermath of it. I hope you all will like what I'm planning!

Anyway, kindly remember to feed the musebunny by leaving a review. Thanks in advance.


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